THE  STORY  HISTORY 
OF  FRANCE 


JOHN  BONNER 


THE  STORY  HISTORY  OF  FRANCE 


Photograph  by  Paul  Thompson 

GEORGE    CLEMENCEATJ 

At  the  present  time  (1919),  seventy-seven  years  old  and  yet  known  as  "The 
Grand  Young  Man  of  Europe,"  one  of  the  half-dozen  supreme  figures  of  the  World 
War.  After  a  stormy  life  of  more  than  the  allotted  span,  in  and  out  of  government, 
he  became  Prime  Minister  of  France  in  November,  1917,  when  the  aspect  of  war 
was  blackest.  His  success  as  French  Premier  is  world  history,  and  his  personality 
in  the  Peace  Conference  one  of  the  most  vivid. 


THE   STORY   HISTORY 
OF  FRANCE 

From  the  Reign  of  Clovis,  481  A.D.,to  the 
Signing  of  the  Armistice.,  November,  1918 

BY 

JOHN    BONNER 

ILLUSTRATED 


HARPER    &   BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


THE  STORT  HISTORY  OP  FRANCE 


Copyright,  1893,  1919,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO 

SEWALL    BOARDMAN 

IN    THE    HOPE    THAT    HE    MAT    BE    TEMPTED    TO    READ    LARGER 

AND    BETTER    WORKS    ON    THE    SUBJECT 

THIS    LITTLE    BOOK    IS 

AFFECTIONATELY    INSCRIBED 


2083121 


PUBLISHER'S    NOTE 

ORIGINALLY  published  in  1893,  under  the  title  of  A  Child's 
History  of  France,  this  excellent  compendium  of  the  salient 
events  in  French  history,  particularly  those  distinguished  for 
their  dramatic  and  romantic  character,  continues  to  find  read- 
ers; it  seems  advisable,  therefore,  to  reissue  the  book  in  a  new 
and  enlarged  edition. 

Mr.  Bonner  closed  his  narrative  with  the  end  of  the  Franco- 
Prussian  War.  Three  additional  chapters  have  been  pre- 
pared, dealing  with  the  principal  events  between  the  found- 
ing of  the  Third  Republic  in  1871  and  the  signing  of  the 
armistice  in  1918. 

The  change  in  title  may  be  justified  by  the  following  quo- 
tation from  the  author's  original  preface: 

"The  title  of  'Child's  History'  is  not  exact.  This  history 
is  not  intended  exclusively  for  young  children;  it  will  com- 
mend itself  likewise  to  boys  and  girls  who  are  ready  to  enter 
college."  And  he  might  have  added:  And  also  to  the  general 
reader,  who  is  interested  in  life  rather  than  in  maps  and  dates, 
and  who  prefers  real  men  and  women  to  political  abstractions. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEB  PAGE 

I.  CLOVIS,  FIRST  KING  OF  FRANCE 1 

II.  BRUNEHAULT  AND  FREDEGONDE 11 

III.  PEPIN  THE  LITTLE 22 

IV.  CHARLEMAGNE 26 

V.  Louis  THE  GENTLE 35 

VI.  HlNCKMAR  THE   ARCHBISHOP 41 

VII.  THE  FEUDAL  SYSTEM 49 

VIII.  THE  END  OF  THE  WORLD 54 

IX.  KING  AND  POPE 57 

X.  ROBERT  THE  DEVIL 63 

XL  PHILIP  THE  FIRST       66 

XII.  THE  FIRST  CRUSADE 69 

XIII.  A  TALE  OF  Two  FAIR  WOMEN 78 

XIV.  PHILIP  AUGUSTUS 84 

XV.  FRANCE  Six  HUNDRED  AND  SEVENTY  YEARS  AGO    .  90 

XVI.  SAINT-LOUIS 95 

XVII.  THE  SICILIAN  VESPERS 103 

XVIII.  PHILIP  THE  HANDSOME         107 

XIX.  SORCERY  AND  DELUSION 114 

XX.  FRANCE  HUMBLED 119 

XXI.  ROBBERS  REIGN 126 

XXII.  BERTRAND  DUGUESCLIN 131 

XXIII.  A  MAD  KING 135 

XXIV.  JOAN  OF  ARC 141 

XXV.  Louis  THE  ELEVENTH 149 

XXVI.  THE  GREAT  LADY 156 

XXVII.  Louis  THE  TWELFTH  .  161 


CONTENTS 

OHAftf.fi  PACE 

XXVIII.  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST 170 

XXIX.  DIANA  OF  POITIERS 179 

XXX.  THE  GUISES 182 

XXXI.  CATHERINE  OF  MEDICIS 186 

XXXII.  MORE  WARS  AND  MURDERS 195 

XXXIII.  HENRY  THE  FOURTH 203 

XXXIV.  CARDINAL  RICHELIEU 212 

XXXV.  CARDINAL  MAZARIN 224 

XXXVI.  Louis  THE  FOURTEENTH 230 

XXXVII.  MORE  PERSECUTION  OF  THE  HUGUENOTS  .     .     .  239 

XXXVIII.  THE  REGENT  ORLEANS 244 

XXXIX.  Louis  THE  FIFTEENTH 250 

XL.  Louis  THE  SIXTEENTH 258 

XLI.  MIRABEAU       268 

XLII.  THE  KING'S  FLIGHT;  IMPRISONMENT,  AND  DEATH  277 

XLIII.         MARAT  AND  CHARLOTTE  CORDAY       291 

XLIV.         ROBESPIERRE 298 

XLV.  THE  LAST  OF  THE  ASSEMBLY 309 

XLVI.          BONAPARTE 316 

XLVII.        THE  FIRST  CONSUL 323 

XLVIII.      THE  EMPEROR  NAPOLEON 331 

XLIX.         FRANCE  UNDER  NAPOLEON 337 

L.  JOSEPHINE       344 

LI.  THE  WAR  IN  SPAIN 351 

LII.  DOWNFALL  OF  NAPOLEON 356 

LIII.  WATERLOO       364 

LIV.  THE  BOURBONS 378 

LV.  A  CITIZEN  KING 384 

LVI.  ANOTHER  REPUBLIC 390 

LVII.          THE  SECOND  EMPIRE 393 

LVIII.         THE  THIRD  REPUBLIC       .  - 402 

LIX.  THE  WORLD  WAR 408 

LX.  VICTORY 415 

INDEX  419 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


George  Clemenceau 

A  Roman  Aqueduct Page  3 

Clovis,  King  of  the  Franks 5 

Burial  of  a  Gaul  in  Olden  Time. .  7 

A  New  King  of  the  Franks 9 

Head  of  King  Clovis 10 

Clotaire  Kills  his  Nephews IS 

ChloQomir's  Son  Submits  to  Ton- 
sure   15 

Deatn  of  Brunehault 17 

Throne  of  Dagobert 20 

Chapel  of  St.  John  at  Poitiers. . .  23 

A  king  of  France  Travelling 27 

Baptizing  the  Saxons 29 

Roland  the  Paladin  at  Ronces- 

valles 31 

The  Normans  Ascending  a  French 

River 36 

A  Noble's  Castle,  with  Town  at 

its  Base 39 

Tlie  Normans  Attacking  the  City 

of  Paris 43 

Charles  the  Bald  and  his  Priests.  47 
A  Noble's  Castle  in  the  Mountains .  50 

Defending  a  Battlement 52 

Swearing  on  Relics 59 

Queen  Constance  Strikes  out  a 

Priest's  Eye 62 

Peter  the  Hermit  Preaching  a 

Crusade 71 

Attacking  the  Saracens  in  their 

Mosque 73 

The  First  Crusade  led  by  Peter 

the  Hermit 75 

A  Minstrel  Singing  to  the  Court 

of  Eleanor  of  Aquitaine 79 

Crusaders  Fording  a  River 81 


Frontispiece. 

Fighting  the  Saracens  . . .  .Page  85 
Miniature  Portrait  of  King  Louis 

IX 95 

Castle  of  Angers,  Built  by  Saint- 
Louis  96 

Isabella  Sends  Two  Ruffians  to 

Kill  the  King y? 

Saint-Louis  Holding  Court  in  the 

Woods 101 

The  Temple 109 

Hanging  a  Sorcerer  in  the  Mid- 
dle Ages 117 

Assault  on  a  Walled  Town. ...  121 

Charge  of  the  French  Knights.  123 
Arrest  of  Charles  of  Navarre  at 

Rouen 127 

Church  at  St.  Denys 132 

Interior  of  Church  at  St. Denys.  134 

Isabeau  of  Bavaria 136 

Duke  of  Burgundy 138 

Joan  of  Arc 141 

Joan  of  Arc  in  Battle 145 

The  Cathedral  at  Rouen 147 

Louis  XI 149 

Charles  VIII.  Crossing  the  Alps  158 

Chateau  d'Amboise 160 

Chevalier  Bayard  Defending   a 

Bridge 163 

Chevalier  Bayard 165 

Portal  of  the  Chateau  des  Blois .  167 

Monument  to  Chevalier  Bayard.  168 

Francis  I.  (from  a  coin) 170 

Francis  1 173 

The  Burning  of  Heretics 175 

Tortures  of  the  Inquisition  ....  177 

An  Execution  at  Amboise 183 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Duke  of  Guise Page  184 

Catherine  de'  Medici 187 

Charles  IX 189 

Admiral  Coligiii 19U 

The  Three  Coligtiis ID  1 

Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  .  .  11)3 

Henry  III 197 

Murder  of  Guise 199 

Assassination  of  Henry  111 201 

Medal  of  Henry  IV.  and  Mary 

of  Medicis 203 

Chateau  of  Henry  IV 205 

Henry  IV.  of  France 209 

Cardinal  Richelieu 212 

Last  Meeting  of  the  States-Gen- 
eral   221 

The  Holy  Chapel  at  Paris 223 

Parliament  in  Session 225 

Barricades  at  Porte  St.  Antoine 

in  the  Civil  War  of  the  Fronde  229 

Louis  XIV 230 

Madame  de  Maintenon 235 

The  Bastile 243 

Caricature  of  John  Law 247 

Fan  of  Louis  XV.  Period 252 

Voltaire 255 

Jean  Jacques  Rousseau 257 

Louis  XVI.  (from  a  coin) 258 

Lyons 261 

Breton  Peasants 263 

Louis  XVI 265 

Mirabeau 268 

Breaking  into  the  Invalides. . .  .  271 

Storming  the  Bastile 273 

Death  of  Governor  Delaunay,  of 

the  Bastile 275 

House  of  the  Jacobin  Club 279 

Storming  the  Tuileries 281 

Sacking  the  Royal  Arsenal  ....  283 

Massacre  at  the  Abbaye 285 

Parting  between  the  King  and 

his  Family 287 

Execution  of  Louis  XVI. ..       .  289 


Charlotte  Corday  in  Prison. Page  293 

The  Coast  of  Normandy 295 

Hotel  de  Ville 297 

Robespierre 298 

Marie  Antoinette 301 

The  Dauphin  in  the  Temple 303 

Executions  of  the  Girondists . . .  305 
Memorial  Cup  and  Saucer  of  the 

Guillotine 307 

Hat  Worn  in  1795 310 

A  Republican  Addressing  the 

People 311 

Napoleon  Bonaparte 313 

Madame  de  Stae'l 315 

The  Directory  (from  a  print  of 

the  time) 320 

The  Three  Consuls  (from  a 

medal) 323 

Execution  of  the  Duke  of  En- 

ghien 327 

Church  of  Notre  Dame,  at  Paris  329 

The  Coast  of  Boulogne 331 

Medal  of  Napoleon,  King  of  Italy  337 

Paris  from  Notre  Dame 339 

Josephine,  Wife  of  Napoleon  I.  345 
Marie  Louise  of  Austria,  Second 

Wife  of  Napoleon  I 347 

The  Palace  of  Fontainebleau  . .  349 

Port  of  Havre 353 

St.  Cloud 856 

Retreat  of  the  French 361 

Avignon 365 

Louis  XVIII 366 

Talleyrand 367 

Tomb  of  Napoleon  at  St.  Helena  373 

Luxembourg 375 

Marshal  Ney  . : 877 

Marquis  de  Lafayette 381 

The  Boulevards  Fifty  Years  ago  385 
Lonis  Napoleon  as  a  Young  Of- 
ficer    393 

Clearing  the  Paris  Streets 395 

Napoleon  III 899 


THE   STORY  HISTORY  OF  FRANCE 


THE 
STORY  HISTORY  OF  FRANCE 

CHAPTER  I 

CLOVIS,  FIRST  KING  OF  FRANCE 
A.D.  481-511 

FOURTEEN  or  fifteen  hundred  years  ago,  there  came  pad- 
dling across  the  Rhine,  in  canoes  and  on  rafts,  bands  of 
tall  warriors,  some  of  them  with  painted  bodies  and  wild 
beasts'  skins  on  their  shoulders,  others  in  gaudy  woollen 
stuffs,  some  with  iron  breast-plates,  many  with  gold  chains 
round  their  necks,  and  all  armed  with  either  sword,  axe, 
spear,  mace,  or  pike.  They  were  called  Franks,  and  came 
from  the  forests  of  Germany,  and  the  fens  of  the  valley  of 
the  Danube.  They  were  going  to  the  country  which  was 
then  called  Gaul,  and  which  after  them  was  called  France. 

Gaul  was  at  this  time  the  home  of  a  number  of  races 
which  bore  the  names  of  Gauls,  Celts,  Beiges,  Goths,  Visi- 
goths, Bretons,  Iberians,  and  Burgundians,  spoke  the  same 
or  nearly  the  same  language,  and  were  brave,  fierce,  and 
rough.  Among  them  was  a  sprinkling  of  Romans,  and 
some  of  the  young  men  of  the  native  races  had  been  edu- 
cated at  Rome,  spoke  Latin,  wore  clothes  cut  in  the  Ro- 
man fashion,  and  were  mannered  like  the  Romans.  Some 
five  hundred  years  before,  the  country  had  been  con- 
quered by  the  Romans  under  their  valiant  general,  Julius 
1 


2  [481-511 

Caesar,  and  had  become  a  Roman  province.  It  was  for  the 
most  part  a  wild  country,  with  much  thicket,  forest,  marsh, 
swamp,  and  bare  rock  ;  cold  fogs  were  frequent  in  the 
north  ;  there  were  but  few  roads  or  bridges  ;  to  go  from 
place  to  place  travellers  had  to  ride  or  trudge  over  bridle 
paths,  through  thick  woods  which  were  infested  by  wolves 
and  bears,  as  well  as  by  robbers  and  murderers.  But  on 
the  plains  and  in  the  river  valleys,  especially  in  the  south, 
were  vineyards,  orchards,  and  fields  of  waving  grain;  and 
in  the  towns,  of  which  there  were  quite  a  number,  stood 
theatres,  circuses,  aqueducts,  churches,  and  temples.  For 
the  Romans  improved  every  country  they  conquered. 

They  had  had  desperate  work  to  conquer  the  Gauls. 
Julius  Caesar,  the  greatest  general  they  ever  had,  spent 
nine  whole  years  in  fighting  them.  It  looked  as  if  they 
could  not  be  conquered.  The  work  was  not  done  till  Caesar 
had  killed  two  millions  of  them,  and  till  the  rivers  ran  south 
to  the  Mediterranean  and  north  to  the  British  Channel  red 
with  blood.  Even  the  women  fought  like  men,  and  died 
by  their  husbands'  sides.  There  is  a  place  in  France  which 
bears  the  dreadful  name  of  Pourrieres  ;  if  you  go  to  see  it, 
you  will  be  told  that  a  whole  tribe — men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren— were  there  butchered  by  the  Roman  soldiers,  and 
their  bodies  left  to  rot  in  the  sun. 

At  last,  when  the  best  fighting-men  of  every  tribe  had 
been  killed,  and  the  chiefs — great,  tall,  splendid  fellows, 
with  blue  eyes  and  tawny  hair,  and  heads  which  towered 
above  the  Romans — had  been  sent  to  Rome  to  march  in 
Caesar's  triumphal  procession  with  their  hands  chained  be- 
hind their  backs,  the  Romans  felt  that  Gaul  was  theirs. 
The  fighting  was  indeed  over  ;  the  Gauls  submitted  to  be 
ruled  by  Roman  governors,  and  began  in  a  feeble  way  to 
call  themselves  Romans. 

It  was  a  bad  time  to  become  a  Roman.  Soon  after  then, 
the  great  Roman  Empire  began  to  fall  into  ruin.  It  was 
crumbling  to  bits.  Barbarians  were  swooping  down  on  its 
borders  and  sacking  its  cities.  Savages  were  bursting 


481-511]  3 

into  its  palaces  and  robbing  them  of  their  riches.  Roman 
armies  had  lost  their  pluck,  and  instead  of  beating  the  enemy 
back  gave  him  money  and  jewels  to  go  away.  Province 


A  ROMAN  AQUEDUCT 

after  province  was  starting  for  itself,  and  declaring  that  it 
was  not  Roman  any  more.  Meanwhile,  whether  the  Empire 
lived  or  died,  the  gay  people  who  lived  at  Rome  went  on 
leading  luxurious  lives,  keeping  hundreds  of  slaves  to  wait 
on  them,  eating  food  and  drinking  wine  which  were  brought 
from  distant  countries,  wearing  beautiful  clothes,  spending 
millions  of  money,  and  taxing  the  submissive  provinces  to 
get  it.  One  of  the  most  submissive  and  the  most  griev- 
ously taxed  was  Gaul. 

Every  acre  of  land  was  taxed,  every  tree,  every  vine, 
every  house  and  cow  and  pig  and  sheep,  eveiy  barn  and 


4  [481-511 

cart  and  plough  ;  a  man  had  to  pay  a  tax  for  the  wife  he 
lived  with,  and  a  tax  for  every  child  she  bore.  Those  who 
resisted  the  tax-gatherer  were  scourged  with  whips.  The 
air  echoed  the  groans  and  shrieks  of  women  who  were  tor- 
tured to  make  them  confess  whether  their  husbands  had 
property,  and  where  it  was  hidden.  After  long  endurance 
of  this  frightful  oppression,  the  great  heart  of  the  Gauls 
broke.  Caesar  had  taught  them  that  they  could  not  fight 
Rome.  They  just  stopped  tilling  their  fields  and  pruning 
their  vines.  They  left  their  houses,  fled  into  the  woods 
where  the  cruel  tax-gatherer  could  not  reach  them,  and  fell 
to  robbing  travellers  and  towns  to  feed  their  children.  If 
this  state  of  things  had  gone  on,  Gaul  would  have  become 
a  wilderness,  the  abode  of  wild  beasts  and  men  as  wild  as 
they. 

It  was  then  that  the  Franks  came  sailing  across  the  Rhine 
into  Gaul.  They  were  a  fighting  people,  hating  work  and 
loving  war.  They  elected  their  king  by  vote  :  the  strong- 
est and  bravest  warrior  was  chosen,  and  was  carried  round 
on  a  shield  on  the  arms  of  soldiers,  who  paraded  him  before 
the  tribe.  You  will  find  in  the  histories  of  the  Franks  the 
names  of  several  kings  who  are  said  to  have  led  the  Franks 
to  battle — Pharamond,  Clodion,  Merovee,  Childeric,  and 
others.  But  I  cannot  feel  sure  that  they  were  real  person- 
ages. I  am  afraid  that  some  of  them — Pharamond  espe- 
cially—  were  invented  long  afterward,  when  the  descend- 
ants of  the  Franks,  like  some  people  in  our  own  day,  had 
a  fancy  to  prove  that  they  sprang  from  very  ancient  line- 
age indeed. 

But  there  is  no  doubt  of  the  reality  of  Clovis,  or  Chlodo- 
veg  as  some  of  the  old  books  call  him.  You  may  feel  quite 
sure  that  he  came  paddling  over  the  Rhine  into  Gaul  at 
the  head  of  a  body  of  Franks  in  or  about  the  year  of  Our 
Lord  four  hundred  and  eighty-one.  The  people  were  very 
glad  to  see  him — all  except  the  tax-gatherers.  With  these 
he  had  a  short,  sharp  way  of  dealing.  When  a  tax-gatherer 
got  in  his  way,  he  sent  one  of  his  captains  to  argue  with 


481-511] 


him  ;  and  it  was  noticed  that  after  the  argument  the  tax- 
gatherer  had  nothing  more  to  say.  The  Frank  had  per- 
suaded him  with  his  axe. 

A  few  friends  of  Rome  tried  in  a  feeble  way  to 
oppose  the  march  of  the  Franks,  but  Clovis  per- 
suaded them,  too,  with  pike  and  sword  ;  and  the 
poor  people  came  out  of  their  hiding-places,  and 
wrung  the  hands  of  the  strangers,  and  bade  them 
welcome.    Nothing  that  Clo- 
vis could  do  to  them  could 
be  worse  than  the  oppression 


CLOVIS,  KING   OF  THE  FRANKS 


6  [481-511 

they  had  endured  from  the  Romans.  They  made  no  ob- 
jection when  Clovis  proclaimed  himself  master  of  town 
after  town,  valley  after  valley,  province  after  province. 
So,  after  a  time,  he  came  to  rule  over  a  larger  country  than 
any  Gaulish  chief  had  ever  swayed — and  it  was  a  country 
which,  now  that  the  people  ventured  to  go  to  work  once 
more  on  their  farms,  was  worth  governing.  He  called  him- 
self King  of  the  Franks,  but  I  think  you  had  better  •emem- 
ber  him  by  the  title  which  fits  him  best — that  of  the 
First  King  of  France. 

In  larger  books  than  this  you  will  find  that  tJ.fi  Gauls 
submitted  to  Clovis  because  of  his  religion.  At  that  time, 
in  Gaul  the  old,  cruel  religion  of  the  Druids,  who  met  in 
groves,  and,  I  am  afraid,  sacrificed  children  on  stone  altars, 
had  died  out,  except  in  the  northwestern  corner  of  the 
country.  In  the  place  of  it,  four  religions  existed.  The 
Franks  had  a  weird,  mystical  religion,  with  gods  named 
Thor  and  Odin  and  a  goddess  named  Freya.  Some  of  the 
Romans,  and  the  Gauls  who  had  been  to  Rome,  clung  to 
their  old  heathen  religion,  with  Jupiter,  Mars,  Apollo,  Ve- 
nus, and  Juno.  And  there  were  two  kinds  of  Christianity. 
One  of  these  Clovis  said  he  professed,  and  he  also  said  that 
it  was  very  superior  to  the  other  kind.  I  do  not  think,  my- 
self, that  he  troubled  himself  much  about  either,  or  that  he 
lay  awake  nights  thinking  about  religion  in  any  shape. 

But  when  he  found  that  rich  fields  on  the  Loire  were 
owned  by  a  tribe  which  professed  one  kind  of  Christianity, 
I  can  quite  understand  why  he  adopted  the  other  kind — be- 
cause his  conscience  would  not  allow  him  to  permit  such 
very  fine  fields  to  remain  in  the  possession  of  people  who 
were  no  better  than  unbelievers.  As  a  good  churchman,  he 
explained  to  himself  that  he  was  bound  to  turn  out  the 
wrong  kind  of  Christians,  and  to  put  in  their  place  the 
right  kind,  namely,  his  own  friends  and  followers — which  is 
precisely  what  he  did. 

Again,  down  in  Languedoc,  in  southern  France,  there 
was  a  tribe  of  Visigoths  who  grew  grapes  and  wheat  on  a 


BURIAL   OF   A  GAUL   IN   OLDEX   TIME 

lovely  plain.  They,  too,  were  so  stupid  that  they  professed 
the  wrong  kind  of  Christianity.  When  Clovis  proposed 
to  go  south  to  argue  with  them  his  soldiers  hung  back,  for 
the  Visigoths  had  the  reputation  of  being  fierce  fighters. 
But  Clovis  had  them  attend  church  at  Tours,  and  pay  par- 
ticular attention  to  the  first  words  which  they  heard  from 
the  priest  who  was  chanting  psalms.  Just  as  they  entered 
the  priest  cried  in  a  loud  chant,  "Thou  hast  given  me  the 
necks  of  mine  enemies."  The  soldiers  took  the  hint  and 
marched,  and  the  Visigoths  lost  their  lands.  Of  course 
the  priest  had  not  been  told  to  select  that  particular  text. 


8  [481-511 

No,  no,  nothing  of  the  kind.  But  it  happened  to  suit  the 
king's  purpose  very  nicely  indeed. 

There  came  a  time  when  Clovis  reigned  over  nearly  all 
France,  except  a  corner  in  the  south  where  he  permitted 
the  remnant  of  the  Visigoths  to  remain,  a  small  corner  in 
the  northwest  where  the  brave  Bretons  fought  stoutly  for 
their  homes  and  beat  back  the  Franks  over  and  over  again, 
and  the  great  duchy  of  Burgundy  in  the  Rhone  valley, 
which  was  ruled  by  a  duke  whose  daughter  was  Clovis's 
wife.  From  the  Pyrenees  to  the  Rhine  the  country  was  all 
his,  and  the  fame  of  his  power  spread  so  far  and  wide  that 
the  Romans  made  him  a  consul — which  was  not  in  those 
days  so  much  of  an  honor  as  it  had  once  been. 

But  he  was  not  satisfied.  On  the  river  Rhine  there  was 
a  small  kingdom  round  what  is  now  the  German  city  of 
Cologne.  Clovis  sent  word  to  the  king's  son,  "  Thy  father 
is  old  ;  he  halts  with  his  lame  foot.  If  he  should  die,  thou 
shalt  have  his  kingdom  and  my  friendship."  The  prince 
understood — he  murdered  his  father  that  night.  Then  said 
Clovis,  "It  is  well.  Show  thy  treasures  to  my  envoys,  and 
I  will  acknowledge  thee  king."  The  poor  fool  opened  a 
chest  full  of  gold-pieces,  and,  bending  over,  thrust  his  arm 
into  it ;  whereupon  one  of  the  envoys  standing  behind  him 
split  his  head  open  with  an  axe  and  carried  off  the  treas- 
ure. The  people  of  Cologne,  who  were  worthy  of  such  a 
prince,  raised  Clovis  on  a  buckler  and  proclaimed  him  king ; 
and  a  Church  chronicler,  Gregory  of  Tours,  declared  that 
he  was  "  successful  in  all  things,  because  his  heart  was 
right  before  God." 

In  those  days  Paris  was  a  small  town,  of  no  particular 
beauty.  Clovis  chose  Soissons  to  be  his  capital,  and  he  sur- 
rounded himself  with  a  joyous  court.  Many  of  his  own 
people  were  rough  barbarians,  who  gorged  themselves  with 
meat  and  drink,  fought  from  morning  to  night,  and  thought 
nothing  of  knifing  their  right-hand  neighbor  at  the  dinner- 
table — monstrous  fellows  with  long  yellow  hair  and  long 
arms  and  roaring  voices.  But  at  the  court  of  Soissons 


481-511] 


9 


there  were  also  gentlemen  of  polish  and  learning  from 
Rome,  or  from  the  French  cities  in  which  Roman  fashions 
had  been  adopted  ;  likewise  priests  who  had  been  well  edu- 
cated, and  whom  Clovis  loved  to  gather  about  him — I  sus- 
pect because  their  presence  gave  respectability  to  his  court. 
That  it  certainly  needed.  He  had  taken  possession  of  a 
fine  old  Roman  palace  at  Soissons,  and  lived  in  it — gener- 
ally sleeping  on  the  bare  boards  with  his  dogs  by  his  side. 


A  NEW  KINO  OF  THE  FEAKKS 


At  his  dinner,  a  roasted  ox,  or  wild  boar,  or  two  or  three 
sheep  were  served  whole  ;  the  gnests  cut  off  chunks  of 
meat  with  their  knives,  and  held  them  in  their  fingers  while 
they  gnawe4  tn.enJt  Wine  was  plentiful,  and  boys  went 


10 


[481-511 


round  with  cups,  out  of  which  each  drank  in  turn.  It  was 
the  general  custom  to  get  drunk  ;  and  after  the  meal  to 
swagger  and  boast,  as  drunken  men  will.  The  Gauls  had  a 
rule  that  the  thigh-bone  of  the  animal  that  was  served  for 
dinner  was  prize  to  the  bravest  man  in  the  company — you 
may  fancy  how  many  fights  grew  out  of  this  custom. 

What  a  contrast  between  such  a  life  and  the  polite,  re- 
fined, and  delightful  manners  of  the  French  people  in  our 
day! 


;*5 

HEAD  OP  KING  CLOVIS 


CHAPTER  II 

BRUNEHAULT   AND   FREDEGONDE 
A.D.  511-752 

THE  four  sons  of  Clovis  were  named  Thierry,  Clotaire, 
Childebert,  and  Chlodomir.  They  were  jealous  of  each 
other  ;  they  felt  that  there  was  not  room  for  all  four  in 
France  ;  but,  before  they  had  time  to  quarrel,  their  grand- 
father, the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  was  murdered  by  one  Sigis- 
mund,  who  usurped  his  throne,  and  their  mother  called 
upon  them  to  avenge  his  death.  Clotaire  and  Chlodomir 
accordingly  invaded  Burgundy,  fought  Sigismund,  took 
him  prisoner,  knocked  him  about  a  good  deal,  and  at  last 
flung  him  into  a  well,  which  they  filled  up  with  stones. 
On  their  way  back,  a  son  of  the  dead  Sigismund  lay  in 
wait  for  them,  caught  Chlodomir  unawares,  and  ran  him 
through  the  body  with  a  pike.  So  one  of  the  four  sons 
was  out  of  the  way. 

He  had  left  three  little  boys,  who  were  being  brought 
up  by  their  grandmother.  Said  Childebert  to  Clotaire : 
"  These  children  must  be  got  out  of  the  way,  so  we  may 
divide  the  kingdom  between  us."  And  they  sent  to  the 
grandmother  a  messenger  who  bore  a  sword  in  one  hand 
and  a  pair  of  scissors  in  the  other,  and  bade  her  choose 
whether  her  grandsons  should  be  tonsured  (which  means 
being  forced  to  enter  the  priesthood)  or  be  killed.  She 
replied  she  would  rather  they  were  dead  than  priests. 
Thereupon,  Clotaire  stabbed  the  eldest  boy,  who  was  ten, 
under  the  arm,  and  reached  out  his  hand  for  the  younger, 
who  was  seven. 

The  child  clung  to  the  knees  of  his  uncle  Childebert 
and  begged  his  life  piteously.  Childebert  turned  to  his 


12  [511-762 

brother  and  cried,  "  Grant  me  the  child's  life — I  will  pay 
thee  what  ransom  thou  wilt."  But  the  bloody-minded 
Clotaire  scoffed  him  ;  he  stabbed  the  boy  as  he  had  stab- 
bed his  brother,  and  the  two  sons  of  Clovis  mounted  their 
horses  and  rode  into  the  city,  seeking  the  third  child. 
He  would  have  perished  like  his  brothers,  had  he  not  es- 
caped by  turning  monk  ;  he  gave  his  name  to  the  monas- 
tery of  St.  Cloud,  which  the  French  afterward  turned  into 
a  palace,  and  the  Germans  burned  a  few  years  ago. 

Childebert  died  soon  afterward  —  in  his  bed — and  so 
another  of  the  four  brothers  was  got  rid  of.  Presently 
Thierry  was  taken  ill  on  a  march  he  was  making  to  rob 
northern  Italy,  and  expired  of  a  fever.  So  at  last,  of  the 
four  sons  of  Clovis,  Clotaire  was  the  only  one  left.  He 
became  King  of  France,  as  his  father  had  been  ;  but  three 
years  afterward  he  also  died,  leaving  his  kingdom,  as  his 
father  had  done,  to  be  divided  between  his  four  sons.  I 
should  have  supposed  that  he  had  seen  enough  of  such 
divisions. 

Of  the  four,  one  died  soon  after  his  father,  and  another, 
Gontran,  got  the  Duchy  of  Burgundy,  and  lived  there 
quietly.  The  other  two  are  chiefly  known  as  the  husbands 
of  two  of  the  worst  women  in  history. 

The  eldest,  Sigebert,  married  a  Spanish  girl  of  great 
beauty  and  some  education,  named  Brunehault.  Her  sis- 
ter had  married  Sigebert's  brother  Chilperic  ;  but  Chil- 
peric  one  day  met  a  lovely  girl  named  Fredegonde,  who 
fascinated  him  and  cast  over  him  a  spell  which  he  could 
not  resist.  She  first  made  him  strangle  his  wife  in  her 
bed  ;  then  she  married  him. 

Brunehault  persuaded  her  husband  to  avenge  her  sister, 
and  war  broke  out  between  the  two  brothers.  It  did  not 
last  long.  Two  of  Fredegonde's  men-at-arms  gained  ad- 
mission to  Sigebert  to  deliver  a  message  and  stabbed  him 
with  poisoned  knives.  Fredegonde,  rejoicing  over  the 
murder,  pushed  on  and  caught  Brunehault,  whose  chances 
of  life  would  have  been  slim  if  her  beauty  had  been  less. 


CHLODOMIR'S  SON  SUBMITS  TO  TOKSURE 

As  it  was,  she  made  a  conquest  of  a  prince,  who  helped 
her  to  escape. 

For  years  the  war  raged  between  these  two  women. 
Both  were  beautiful  and  fascinating ;  they  were  said  to  be 
sorceresses,  probably  because  they  could  turn  any  man's 
head  and  mould  him  to  their  will.  The  advantage  was 
generally  with  Fredegonde.  But  one  day  a  bishop  saw,  or 
said  that  he  saw,  the  sword  of  God's  wrath  hanging  over 
her  house,  and  frightened  her  almost  to  death  by  telling 
her  the  story.  Shortly  afterward,  her  two  sons  died  of  a 
fever,  and  she  felt  sure  that  this  was  her  punishment. 
Husband  and  wife  fell  to  railing  at  each  other  for  having 
brought  down  the  wrath  of  Heaven  upon  them,  and  Frede- 


16  [511-752 

gonde,  in  her  fury,  had  her  husband  assassinated.  So  now 
both  women  were  widows,  and  the  only  one  of  Clotaire's 
sons  who  still  lived  was  Gontran,  Duke  of  Burgundy. 

To  him,  for  the  people  were  furious  at  her  husband's 
murder,  Fredegonde  fled  arid  sought  protection  for  herself 
and  her  young  son.  Gontran,  who  was  a  silly  sort  of  per- 
son, took  her  part,  declared  that  she  was  a  much-injured 
woman,  and  lent  her  an  army.  She  won  a  battle,  is  it  said, 
by  moving  her  troops  under  cover  of  large  branches  of 
trees,  which  made  it  appear  that  a  forest  was  in  motion  ; 
but  the  excitement  was  too  much  for  her  :  she  fell  ill  and 
soon  after  died.  Gontran  was  then  dead  ;  so  were  his 
brothers  ;  alone  of  the  bad  lot  that  had  fought  for  Clo- 
taire's inheritance,  Brunehault  survived. 

She  was  an  old  woman  now,  and  had  neither  husband, 
lover,  nor  son.  But  she  insisted  on  continuing  to  rule  in 
the  name  of  her  grandson  ;  and,  in  order  that  he  should 
not  interfere  with  her,  she  surrounded  him  with  idle  com- 
panions, male  and  female,  and  encouraged  him  to  lead  a 
life  of  dissipation.  She  was  as  imperious  as  ever  ;  what- 
ever she  said  was  law  ;  every  one  had  to  obey  whomsoever 
she  honored.  She  humbled  the  nobles,  made  enemies  of 
the  priests,  and  provoked  the  soldiers.  So  when  the  son 
of  her  old  enemy  Fredegonde  led  an  army  to  attack  her, 
she  was  unable  to  defend  herself.  People  would  not  fight 
for  her.  There  was  a  battle,  but  Brunehault's  troops 
threw  down  their  arms,  and  the  old  queen  was  captured. 
It  was  no  use  expecting  pity  in  those  cruel  times.  A  rope 
was  twisted  in  the  gray  hair  of  the  old  woman,  and  was 
twined  round  one  wrist  and  one  ankle.  The  other  end  was 
fastened  to  the  tail  of  a  wild  horse,  and  he  was  lashed  into 
a  furious  gallop  over  brake,  brier,  thorn,  and  boulder.  The 
body  of  the  poor  old  queen  was  literally  torn  in  pieces. 
Before  her  death,  her  old  rival's  son  had  inflicted  on  her 
every  form  of  insult  and  torture,  and  it  is  quite  likely  that 
death,  however  cruel  it  was,  was  not  wholly  unwelcome. 
It  was  said  of  her  that  she  had  killed  ten  kings,  most  of 


DEATH    OF    BRTJNEHATTLT 

whom  were  her  own  kith  and  kin  ;  and  in  those  days  it  was 
thought  to  be  much  more  serious  business  to  kill  a  king 
than  a  common  man. 

For  nearly  a  hundred  and  twenty  years  after  the  death 
of  Brunehault  there  was  but  one  king  of  France — Dago- 
bert — whom  you  would  care  to  hear  about.  The  others 
were  "  idle  kings,"  as  the  people  called  them  :  they  wore 
long  hair  and  long  beards  and  crowns,  and  lived  in  pal- 
2 


18  [511-752 

aces,  and  on  coronation  day  were  taken  to  church  in 
wagons  drawn  by  bullocks,  while  the  people  cheered,  and 
the  boys  and  girls  shouted  for  glee  ;  but  they  had  no 
power,  did  not  try  to  interfere  with  public  affairs,  but 
spent  their  time  in  games  with  friends  as  idle  as  they. 
Dagobert  did  try  to  do  his  duty  ;  he  improved  the  laws 
and  punished  those  who  were  guilty  of  crime  ;  but  he  led 
a  loose  life,  and  enjoyed  the  society  of  the  gay  ladies  of 
his  court  better  than  that  of  his  counsellors.  As  for  the 
others,  they  were  simply  nobodies.  No  one  paid  any  at- 
tention to  them — neither  the  officers  of  the  army,  nor  the 
priests  of  the  Church,  nor  the  nobility,  nor  even  the  work- 
ing people,  nor  the  peasants. 

You  will  wonder  how  France  was  governed  at  this 
time.  There  was  an  officer  who  was  elected  by  the  bishops 
and  the  nobles,  and  who  was  called  the  Mayor  of  the 
Palace.  All  power  was  confided  to  him — subject  in  some 
respects  to  the  approval  of  the  bishops.  He  collected  the 
revenues  and  paid  them  out ;  he  chose  magistrates,  judges, 
and  generals  ;  he  directed  the  movements  of  the  army  ;  he 
treated  with  foreign  nations  ;  he  altered  the  laws  and  had 
them  carried  out.  The  Church  had  by  this  time  become 
so  powerful  in  France  that  no  one  who  was  its  enemy 
could  stand  long.  Generally  the  mayors  of  the  palace 
managed  to  keep  on  the  right  side  of  the  bishops,  and  as 
long  as  they  did  so  the  Church  did  not  interfere  with 
them.  Much  of  the  best  land  in  France  was  passing  into 
the  ownership  of  the  Church,  and  the  only  great  monu- 
ments that  were  being  built  were  cathedrals,  churches, 
monasteries,  and  convents.  The  common  people  reverenced 
the  priests  and  obeyed  them  in  all  things.  Only  the  army 
stood  jealously  aloof  and  hated  them. 

In  the  year  714,  Pepin,  the  Mayor  of  the  Palace,  lay  on 
his  death-bed,  with  his  son  Grimoald,  whom  he  had  chosen 
as  his  successor,  by  his  bedside.  A  murderer  entered  the 
room  and  strangled  Grimoald,  on  the  very  bed  on  which 
his  father  lay.  Pepin  died  of  the  shock,  and  the  nobles 


611-752]  19 

elected  another  son  of  his — Charles — to  be  mayor  in  his 
stead.  Now,  the  mother  of  Charles  was  not  his  father's 
wife. 

The  priests  and  bishops  had  spoken  much  ill  of  her  in 
consequence;  one  bishop  had  said  such  bitter  things  that 
her  brother  had  broken  into  the  bishop's  palace  and 
stabbed  him  to  death  while  he  was  at  his  prayers.  You 
may  imagine  that  there  was  no  love  lost  between  the 
priests  and  Charles.  He  no  sooner  became  Mayor  of  the 
Palace  than  he  took  from  the  Church  one  rich  piece  of 
property  after  another  and  bestowed  it  on  officers  of  the 
army.  But  the  bishops  had  no  time  to  show  their  resent- 
ment, for  an  enemy  even  more  formidable  than  the  new 
Mayor  of  the  Palace  was  threatening  them  at  that  very 
moment. 

Sweeping  northward  from  Spain,  which  they  had  over- 
run from  the  Mediterranean  to  the  Pyrenees,  an  army  of 
Saracens  or  Moors,  which  is  said  to  have  numbered  several 
hundred  thousand,  chiefly  cavalry,  had  sallied  forth  from 
Narbonne,  crossed  the  Garonne,  and  was  striking  for  the 
valley  of  the  Loire.  They  were  Moslems,  that  is,  followers 
of  Mohammed,  and  wherever  they  went  they  put  Christians 
to  death,  because  of  their  faith,  and  stamped  out  Christian- 
ity. They  had  spread  their  empire  all  over  Western  Asia, 
all  Northern  Africa,  and  all  Spain.  A  few  more  conquests 
would  make  them  masters  of  all  Europe  as  well.  They 
were  good  fighters,  frugal  livers,  brave  soldiers;  they  feared 
nothing,  and  scoured  the  world  like  the  wind  on  their  swift 
chargers,  ready  to  die  without  a  murmur  for  their  religion; 
up  to  that  time  no  race  or  people  had  been  able  to  hold 
their  own  against  them.  For  help  against  these  terrible 
invaders,  a  piteous  cry  came  up  to  Charles  from  southern 
France. 

He  was  the  man  for  the  hour.  Gathering  troops  from 
far  and  wide,  pressing  every  able-bodied  man  into  the 
ranks  and  arming  him  as  he  could,  calling  upon  Gaul  and 
Frank  and  Goth  and  Roman  to  strike  a  blow  for  God  and 


20  [511-752 

country,  he  inspired  his  people  with  his  own  tireless  ener- 
gy. He  moved  as  swiftly  as  the  Moors  themselves,  and 
in  a  plain  near  Tours  fell  upon  them  like  a  thunderbolt. 
The  battle  lasted  only  a  few  hours  ;  the  Moslem  troops 
could  not  stand  the  mighty  shock  of  the  heavy  Northern 
infantry;  the  light  African  horse  reeled  under  the  onset 
of  the  great  Flemish  chargers  ;  when  the  next  day  dawned 
the  white  tents  of  the  Arabs  were  found  empty,  great 
mounds  of  corpses  strewed  the  plain,  and  clouds  of  dust 


Til  RUM*:    OK    UAt.OliKUT 


on  the  southern  sky  told  a  tale  of  retreat.  The  Moors  fell 
back,  and  back,  until  they  left  the  soil  of  France  for  a 
time. 

For  the  heavy  blows  which  Charles  had  dealt  to  the  ene- 
my in  this  battle  the  people  gave  him  the  name  of  Charles 
Martel,  or  Charles  the  Hammer;  and  by  that  name  you  will 
remember  him.  But  for  him  all  Europe  might  have  been 
Mohammedan,  and  perhaps — who  can  say  ? — you  might  to 
day?  at  sunset,  baye  been  praying  to  AlJah  op  a  carpe^, 


511-752]  21 

Charles  the  Hammer  died  in  752,  and  named  his  son 
Pepin  as  his  successor  in  the  office  of  mayor.  But  the 
Pope  of  Rome,  who  happened  to  be  a  man  of  a  good  deal 
of  common-sense,  declared  that  the  kingly  title  should  rest 
where  the  kingly  power  was,  and  sent  a  priest  to  crown 
Pepin  King  of  France.  *It  was  a  good  arrangement,  no 
doubt ;  but  it  had  the  inconvenience  of  establishing  the 
rule  that  kings  must  be  crowned  by  the  pope,  and  this,  you 
will  find  hereafter,  led  to  a  good  deal  of  trouble. 


CHAPTER   III 

PEPIN    THE    LITTLE 
A.D.  752-771 

THERE  were  two  objections  to  Pepin's  becoming  King  of 
France.  First,  there  was  a  king  already,  whose  name  was 
Childeric,  and  who  was  living  in  a  cloister,  wearing  the 
long  beard  and  the  crown  of  a  king.  He  did  not  meddle 
with  government,  but  he  was  rightful  king  for  all  that. 
Of  him  Pepin  disposed  by  shutting  him  up  in  a  convent 
at  St.  Omer,  where  he  soon  died.  When  kings  are  made 
captives  they  seldom  live  long. 

Next,  Pepin  was  a  very  short  man,  so  short  that  he  was 
called  Pepin  the  Little.  Now,  among  the  Franks  and  the 
Northern  races  generally,  kings  and  chiefs  were  always 
men  of  lofty  stature.  They  were  generally  the  tallest  men 
of  their  tribes.  Some  of  the  Frank  soldiers  sneered  at  Pe- 
pin because  they  could  look  over  his  head.  But  if  he  was 
short,  he  was  broad;  and  he  had  the  strength  of  a  giant 
and  the  spirit  of  a  hero. 

At  a  circus,  where  the  people  had  assembled  to  see  the 
games,  there  was  a  fight  between  a  lion  and  a  bull.  The 
animals  dashed  at  each  other,  and  were  soon  in  a  death- 
grapple.  The  bull  had  gored  the  lion,  but  the  latter  had 
thrown  its  big  enemy,  and  was  tearing  its  neck  and  shoul- 
ders with  its  sharp  claws.  All  at  once  Pepin  cried, 

"  Is  there  any  one  here  who  dares  to  separate  these  two 
brutes  ?" 

He  glanced  over  at  the  benches  where  the  great  nobles 
and  the  tall  warriors  sat,  but  they  all  looked  the  other  way 
and  pretended  not  to  have  heard.  Then  Pepin,  drawing 
bis  sword,  leaped  into  the  ring,  and  with  a  few  sharp  blows 


752-771] 

drove  off  the  lion  and  cowed  the  bull.     Then,  turning  to 
his  nobles,  he  asked, 

"  Say,  now,  am  I  worthy  to  be  your  king  ?" 
I  need  not  tell  you  of  the  shout  which  arose  in  the  cir- 
cus, or  of  the  shamefaced  air  of  the  warriors  who  had  ob- 
jected to  Pepin  because  he  was  too  little. 


CHAPEL  OF  ST.  JOHN  AT  POITIERS 

Pepin  reigned  over  France  for  sixteen  years,  and  in  that 
time  conducted  two  great  wars.  The  first  was  against  a 
savage  people  who  were  called  Lombards,  from  their  long 
beards,  and  who  had  invaded  Italy  and  settled  in  the  north- 
ern part.  As  they  were  fonder  of  fighting  than  of  work, 
they  were  often  short  of  money,  and  when  this  happened 
they  had  a  way  of  marching  down  to  Rome  and  other 
rich  Italian  cities  and  demanding  tribute.  Where  the  de- 
mand was  denied  they  would  sack  the  city  and  go  home 
laden  with  plunder.  The  Pope  of  Rome  now  sent  to  Paris, 
and  asked  Pepin  would  he  drive  out  the  Lombards  for  the 
sake  of  his  love  for  the  Church  ?  If  he  would,  the  pope 
and  the  bishops  would  be  his  stanch  friends  forever. 


24  [752-771 

Nothing  suited  the  little  king  better.  He  led  his  fight- 
ing Franks  and  Gauls  across  the  Alps,  scattered  the  Lom- 
bards in  short  order,  and  took  their  lands  and  their  cities. 
These  he  refused  to  keep,  but  gave  them,  one  and  all,  to  St. 
Peter  and  the  pope.  You  will  not  be  sin-prised  to  hear  that 
after  this  Pepin  was  much  thought  of  at  Rome,  and  was 
blessed  on  high  days  and  holy  days  by  the  pope.  The 
priests  in  France  received  strict  orders  to  teach  their  people 
that  it  was  exceedingly  impious  to  oppose  him  in  any  way. 

Pepin's  other  war  was  with  Aquitaine,  the  southwestern 
portion  of  France.  This  country  was  largely  peopled  by 
a  sturdy  and  turbulent  race,  called  Basques,  who  were  at 
first  shepherds  in  the  Pyrenees.  They  were  a  short,  black- 
haired,  black-eyed  race,  bright,  quick,  brave,  and  passion- 
ate. When  they  swarmed  down  the  wooded  slopes  of  the 
mountains,  in  their  red  capes,  with  knives  in  their  belts 
and  woollen  shoes  on  their  feet,  driving  before  them  flocks 
of  sheep  and  followed  by  their  wives  and  children,  it  was 
not  particularly  safe  to  bar  their  way.  The  leader  of  these 
people,  Duke  Eudes  of  Aquitaine,  formed  an  alliance  with 
a  Moorish  emir  named  Munuza,  and  proposed  to  establish 
a  great  kingdom  in  southern  France  and  northern  Spain. 
Eudes  was  a  Christian,  and  Munuza  was  a  Moslem ;  but 
neither  of  them  troubled  himself  much  about  religion. 
Eudes  gave  his  daughter  to  wife  to  the  Moslem,  and  they 
took  the  field  with  a  great  army. 

But  they  were  between  two  fires,  and  both  were  hot. 
The  Moslem  Caliph  of  Seville,  in  Spain,  sent  an  army  against 
Munuza,  and  besieged  him  in  a  fortress.  He  beleaguered 
the  place  so  closely  that  not  a  man  nor  a  pound  of  food 
could  get  in  to  the  garrison,  and  Munuza,  after  holding  out 
till  his  men  were  nearly  starved  and  looked  as  if  they 
would  eat  one  another,  threw  himself  head-downward  from 
the  topmost  stone  of  the  fort.  His  Christian  wife  was 
taken  with  the  rest  of  the  spoil,  and  was  sent  as  a  present 
to  the  Caliph  of  Damascus.  The  poor,  pale  girl  cried  her 
ife  out  as  a  captive  in  an  Arab's  harem. 


752-771]  25 

Then  Pepin,  who  had  settled  his  account  with  the  Lom- 
bards, turned  on  Eudes,  Duke  of  Aquitaine.  This  time  he 
met  a  foe  who  could  tight.  The  war  lasted  year  in  and 
year  out.  Battles  were  fought,  and  battles  won  and  lost; 
but  the  fighting  went  on  forever.  In  some  strife,  we  hard- 
ly know  where,  Eudes  was  killed;  but  his  sons,  Hunald 
and  Hatto,  went  on  with  the  war.  It  was  the  old,  sicken- 
ing story  of  treachery,  superstition,  rapine,  bloodshed,  and 
murder.  Hatto  betrayed  Hunald.  Hunald  caught  him 
and  tore  his  eyes  out.  Then,  repenting,  he  sentenced  him- 
self to  life -imprisonment  in  a  monastery.  But  his  son 
Guaifer  took  up  the  cause  and  went  on  butchering  and 
ravaging. 

With  the  help  of  Moorish  allies,  Guaifer  captured  a 
party  of  Goths  and  massacred  them ;  the  people  of  Nar- 
bonne  rose  one  morning  and  slew  every  Moor  in  the  place. 
Pepin  and  his  Franks  marched  through  Berry,  Limousin, 
and  Aquitaine,  burning  every  house  and  every  tree,  and 
cutting  down  every  vine.  Guaifer  was  at  last  driven  into 
the  wild  fastnesses  of  the  mountains.  One  by  one  his 
friends  left  him;  and  at  last  a  couple  of  villains — there 
were  plenty  of  such  in  those  days — crept  up  to  him  while 
he  slept  and  put  him  to  death,  in  order  to  curry  favor  with 
Pepin.  So  there  was  an  end  of  the  war  at  last. 

In  his  last  years  Pepin  became  very  pious  indeed.  The 
bishops  persuaded  him  that  it  was  better  for  the  country 
to  let  them  make  the  laws,  and  he  agreed  on  condition 
that  they  should  give  him  relics  of  the  saints.  Of  these 
the  supply  was  large — I  believe  it  is  not  exhausted  yet. 
He  used  to  parade  on  solemn  occasions  with  his  shoulders 
and  head  covered  with  saints'  bones  and  shreds  of  saints' 
clothing.  I  hope  they  did  him  good  ;  but  they  did  not 
keep  him  alive,  nor  make  him  friends  when  his  time  came. 
As  it  was,  he  left  his  kingdom  to  a  monarch  far  greater 
than  himself. 


CHAPTER   IV 

C  IT  A  R  L  E  M  A  G  N  E 
A.D.  771-814 

CHARLES,  the  son  of  Pepin,  was  twenty-six  years  old 
when  he  succeeded  his  father  as  King  of  France.  His  life 
began  with  the  usual  family  quarrels.  He  quarrelled  with 
his  brother  and  drove  him  into  exile,  where  he  soon  died. 
And  he  quarrelled  with  his  wife,  the  daughter  of  the  King 
of  Lombardy,  and  sent  her  back  to  her  father.  But  he 
soon  had  graver  concerns  than  home  strife. 

The  King  of  Lombardy,  enraged  at  having  his  daughter 
thrown  back  on  his  hands,  declared  war  upon  Charles,  who 
accepted  the  challenge,  overcame  his  enemy  in  short  order, 
and  made  himself  King  of  the  Lombards  as  well  as  King  of 
the  Franks.  He  put  the  iron  crown  of  Lombardy  on  his 
head  and  went  to  Rome,  where  the  pope  made  much  of 
him,  gave  him  his  blessing,  and  called  him  Charlemagne. 
Charles  accepted  the  blessing  gratefully,  but,  in  order  to 
prevent  mistakes,  observed  to  the  pope  that,  while  he  was 
the  best  friend  the  Church  had,  he  proposed  henceforth  to 
be  master.  If  disputes  arose  the  pope  was  to  take  his 
orders  from  him,  not  he  from  the  pope.  This  made  mat- 
ters clearer  than  they  had  been  in  the  later  years  of  Pepin. 
The  pope  submitted,  the  less  reluctantly  because  Charle- 
magne told  him  that  he  had  resolved  to  undertake  the  con- 
version of  the  Saxons. 

The  Saxons — from  whom  in  part  the  American  people 
are  descended — were  then  a  tribe,  or  a  band  of  tribes,  set- 
tled in  the  country  that  is  now  northern  Germany,  be- 
tween the  Rhine  and  the  Elbe,  and  stretching  south  as  far 
as  Bohemia.  They  lived  either  in  woods  so  dense  that  it 


771-814]  27 

was  said  a  squirrel  could  travel  twenty  miles,  leaping  from 
branch  to  branch,  without  touching  the  ground  ;  or  in  vast 
prairies  which  were  often  water-soaked  in  summer  and 
frozen  over  in  winter.  They  had  never  been  conquered, 
and  had  never  become  Christians ;  they  were  as  brave  and 
as  fierce  and  as  savage  as  they  had  been  when  they  de- 
fied Cfesar  to  invade  their  country.  From  France  mis- 


A  KING  OF  FRANCE  TRAVELLING 

sionaries  had  gone  to  convert  them,  and  had  barely  es- 
caped with  their  lives.  These  were  the  people  whom 
Charlemagne  had  undertaken  to  convert  and  to  subdue. 
To  be  near  at  hand  for  his  work,  he  moved  his  court  from 
Paris  to  Aix-la-Chapelle,  which  is  near  the  Rhine  in  Ger- 
many. 


28  [771-814 

As  the  Saxons  were  an  unlettered  people,  while  the 
priests  among  the  Franks  were  educated,  all  the  accounts 
which  we  have  of  the  war  are  from  Prankish  sources,  and 
some  of  them  are  very  surprising  indeed. 

In  Saxony  there  stood  a  statue,  which  represented  a 
huge  man  with  a  balance  in  one  hand  and  a  flag  in  the 
other  ;  on  his  arm  hung  a  buckler,  with  a  lion  on  it,  lord- 
ing it  over  other  animals.  The  priests  said  that  this  was 
an  idol  which  the  Saxons  worshipped,  so  Charlemagne's 
soldiers  marched  on  it  and  broke  it  to  pieces.  Forthwith, 
by  a  miracle,  a  spring  of  fresh  water  gushed  forth  from 
the  base  of  the  statue  to  refresh  the  thirsty  troops  after 
their  exertions.  Whether  the  spring  did  or  did  not  gush 
forth,  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  destruction  of  the  statue 
exasperated  the  Saxons  and  tired  them  to  continue  their 
resistance. 

According  to  the  priestly  accounts,  miracles  were  not  un- 
common in  that  war.  There  was  a  Christian  church  which 
a  'saint  had  built  in  Saxony.  The  Saxon  chief  ordered  that 
it  be  burned,  and  a  soldier  was  sent  to  set  it  on  fire.  But  it 
had  been  foretold  by  the  saint  who  built  the  church  that  it 
could  never  be  consumed  by  fire,  and  as  the  soldier  knelt 
down  to  apply  his  torch,  two  angels  descended  from  heaven, 
all  clad  in  white,  extinguished  the  flame,  and  petrified  the 
Saxon,  so  that  he  was  found  long  afterward,  turned  to 
stone,  in  the  attitude  of  kneeling,  with  his  cheeks  still 
puffed  out  in  the  act  of  blowing  the  embers. 

The  Franks  were  better  trained  to  fighting  than  the 
Saxons,  and  they  were  more  numerous.  But  after  a  bat- 
tle the  defeated  Saxons  would  fly  to  their  wooded  hiding- 
places  to  gain  breath,  and  would  renew  the  war  just  when 
they  were  least  expected.  They  had  an  exceedingly  in- 
genious and  brave  chief  named  Witikind,  who  fought 
year  after  year,  and  was  almost  always  beaten,  yet  was 
never  conquered  :  Charlemagne  no  sooner  felt  that  his 
work  was  done,  and  that  the  Saxons  would  give  him  no 
more  trouble,  than  Witikind  would  loom  up  again,  and 


771-814]  29 

swoop  down  upon  the  Franks,  and  sack  their  camps,  and 
capture  their  supplies.  Charlemagne  tried  every  device  of 
Avar  with  small  success.  Once,  when  the  Saxon  army  re- 
treated after  a  battle,  leaving  behind  them  some  four  thou- 
sand five  hundred  wounded  or  sick  men  Avho  could  not  keep 
up  Avith  the  flying  army,  the  cruel  Frank  had  them  all  be- 
headed to  strike  terror  to  their  friends.  Again,  he  would 
surround  Saxon  settlements  and  transplant  every  one — 
men,  Avomen,  and  children — to  some  distant  part  of  France. 
But  those  who  remained  still  continued  to  resist. 

They  did  not  object  so  much  to  baptism,  the  meaning  of 
which  they  probably  did  not  understand.  Indeed,  when 
the  priests  gave  out  that  every  one  who  Avas  christened 


BAPTIZING  THE  SAXONS 


30  [771-814 

must  wear  a  white  robe,  and  that  if  he  didn't  own  one  the 
Church  would  supply  it,  vast  numbers  of  Saxons  presented 
themselves  for  baptism  to  get  the  white  robe.  They  came 
to  be  baptized  not  once,  but  many  times.  Some  of  them  were 
particular  about  the  robe  :  one  of  them  told  Charlemagne 
that  if  the  priest  couldn't  furnish  him  with  a  clean  new 
linen  robe,  white  as  snow,  he  wouldn't  be  baptized  any 
more.  But  the  baptized  Saxons  fought  as  fiercely  against 
the  Franks  as  those  who  had  not  undergone  the  operation. 

The  war  lasted  thirty-three  years.  It  was  not  till  805 
that  Charlemagne  could  say  that  it  was  positively  ended, 
that  the  Saxons  were  finally  subdued,  and  that  his  empire 
extended  from  the  Atlantic  Ocean  to  the  Elbe  and  almost 
to  the  Oder. 

While  it  was  raging,  Charlemagne  undertook  another 
war  against  the  Basques  and  their  friends  in  northern 
Spain.  He  was  successful  at  first,  but,  meeting  with  re- 
verses, he  ordered  a  retreat,  and  his  enemy  caught  his 
army  in  a  pass  of  the  Pyrenees,  at  Roncesvalles,  rolled 
great  stones  and  logs  on  them  from  the  overhanging  crags, 
and  cut  them  off  to  a  man.  <Not  a  Frank  escaped,  and  the 
overwhelming  disaster  so  preyed  upon  Charlemagne's 
mind  that  he  never  returned  to  Spain. 

It  was  at  Roncesvalles  that  he  lost  one  of  his  best  cap- 
tains, the  famous  Roland  the  paladin,  whose  story  used  to 
be  a  favorite  with  the  troubadour  minstrels.  Roland  car- 
ried a  sword  of  such  extraordinary  strength  and  keenness 
that  with  one  blow  of  it  he  clove  a  pass  through  the  moun- 
tain range  of  the  Pyrenees  ;  when  he  broke  it  at  Ronces- 
valles, he  seized  his  horn  and  blew  a  rescue  call  that  was 
heard  miles  and  miles  away.  So  loud  and  so  piercingly 
did  he  blow  his  horn  that  he  burst  the  veins  in  his  neck 
in  the  effort  and  died  in  consequence.  It  was  a  pity,  for 
he  was  a  good  friend  of  the  Church  and  a  right  valiant 
knight. 

When  Charlemagne  had  crushed  the  Saxons,  he  ruled 
over  a  kingdom  which  comprised  all  of  modern  France, 


ROLAND  THE  PALADIN  AT  ROXCESVALLES 

half  of  modern  Germany,  four-fifths  of  modern  Italy,  and 
all  of  modern  Switzerland.  On  the  strength  of  this  vast 
empire  he  claimed  to  be  the  Emperor  of  the  West  and  the 
successor  of  the  Caesars  of  Rome,  and  the  pope  crowned 
him  by  that  title.  Though  his  proper  title  had  been  King 
of  the  Franks,  he  was  a  German  like  his  father,  and  spoke 
German  all  his  life.  He  lived  in  a  German  city,  and  his 
most  trusted  friends  were  Germans. 

But  he  gathered  round  him  in  his  palace  at  Aix-la- 
Chapelle  men  of  education  from  all  nations,  and,  first  of 
all  modern  monarchs,  he  encouraged  learning.  In  his  day 
there  was  no  learning  outside  the  monasteries  and  con- 
vents and  cathedrals.  Nobles  and  soldiers  thought  it  be* 


32  [771-814 

neath  them  to  read  and  write.  Charlemagne  himself 
learned  to  read  late  in  life,  but  he  never  could  be  taught 
to  write  ;  it  was  with  effort  that  he  trained  his  hand  to 
sign  his  name.  In  his  palace  he  established  a  school,  with 
great  scholars  at  its  head,  and  there,  with  as  many  noble- 
men's sons  and  other  young  men  as  chose  to  attend,  he 
studied  astronomy,  theology,  law,  grammar,  rhetoric,  and 
music.  lie  stinted  his  sleep  to  gain  time  to  study.  He 
taught  himself  to  speak  Latin  and  Greek ;  the  Gaulish  and 
Frankish  languages  he  had  acquired  in  his  youth.  When 
he  found  a  young  man  of  promise,  he  rewarded  him  by 
giving  him  a  high  office  in  the  Church.  In  this  way  boys 
were  sometimes  made  bishops  before  their  beards  had  be- 
gun to  grow. 

His  domestic  life  was  not  happy.  He  had  had  nine 
wives — sometimes,  I  am  afraid,  two  at  a  time  ;  and  when  he 
was  quite  an  old  m:u.i,  he  offered  marriage  to  the  Empress 
Irene  of  Constantinople,  who  was  not  a  young  woman. 
The  empress  had  heard  of  his  conversation  with  the  pope, 
which  I  have  related,  and  she  replied  that  she  preferred 
remaining  a  widow.  One  of  his  wives,  Hildegarde,  had  a 
roaring  voice,  and  bellowed  at  him  when  she  spoke  ;  when 
she  died,  he  married  Fastrade,  who  had  a  gentle  voice, 
but  a  most  ungentle  temper.  She  bullied  her  old  husband 
to  such  a  degree  that  the  nobles  of  his  court  took  pity  on 
him  and  plotted  to  get  rid  of  her. 

By  these  wives  he  had  six  sons  and  eight  daughters. 
Among  the  former  there  was  not  one  who  could  deny  that 
he  was  a  fool.  The  girls  were  beautiful,  but  their  father 
refused  to  allow  them  to  marry,  and  they  were  rather  dis- 
contented with  their  lot  in  consequence.  In  the  old  story- 
books of  the  times  there  are  several  tales  of  the  merry  adven- 
tures with  which  the  young  ladies  amused  themselves,  and 
tried  to  beguile  the  dulness  of  spinsterhood  ;  but  their  old 
father  had  lattices  fitted  into  every  room  in  the  palace,  so 
that  he  could  see  all  that  was  going  on,  and  he  kept  pretty 
close  watch  of  his  family.  He  had  a  sly  way  of  dealing 


771-814]  33 

with  a  young  man  who  gave  him  offence.  He  ordered  him 
to  go  to  a  distant  monastery  in  Italy  to  do  penance  ;  and  it 
was  curiously  remarked  that  the  people  who  went  off  on 
these  journeys  were  never  heard  of  again. 

Once  in  a  way,  a  young  man  got  the  best  of  the  king. 
One  of  his  daughters  had  a  sweetheart  named  Eginhard, 
who  wanted  to  marry  her.  Charlemagne  forbade  him  to 
appear  at  the  palace,  but,  like  a  gallant  knight,  he  set  the 
king's  commands  at  defiance  in  order  to  see  his  true  love. 
It  was  her  custom,  when  bedtime  came,  to  let  him  out  by 
a  side  door,  so  that  Charlemagne  should  not  know  he  had 
called  ;  but  one  evening,  while  he  was  in  the  palace,  snow 
began  to  fall,  and  when  the  lovers  went  to  the  side  door 
they  saw  that  Eginhard's  footsteps  in  the  freshly  fallen 
snow  would  reveal  his  visit.  The  young  knight  was  dis- 
mayed ;  but  the  girl,  who  was  stout  and  strong,  bade  him 
cheer  up  ;  and  taking  him  on  her  shoulders,  she  carried  him 
out  of  the  palace  grounds.  Charlemagne  saw  her  out  of 
one  of  his  lattices,  and  was  so  much  touched  by  her  devo- 
tion that  he  gave  Eginhard  a  fine  estate. 

In  his  later  years  he  bestowed  more  time  on  his  study 
of  the  liturgy  and  of  church-music  than  on  the  affairs  of 
the  Empire.  Thus  large  parts  of  France  which  ought  to 
have  been  bearing  crops  were  left  to  pasture,  and  the  price 
of  bread  rose  very  high.  Six  bushels  of  wheat  were  worth 
as  much  as  an  ox.  This,  of  course,  made  free  labor  wortn 
less  than  it  should  have  been,  and  slaves  increased  in  num- 
bers. To  the  head  of  his  school  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  Charle- 
magne gave  a  farm  with  twenty  thousand  slaves  on  it. 

In  his  seventy-second  year  he  was  attacked  by  a  fever 
which  proved  fatal.  As  long  as  he  retained  his  senses,  he 
continued  to  read  a  Latin  copy  of  the  Gospels,  which  he 
had  been  studying  ;  when  the  end  came  he  stretched  forth 
his  hands,  cried  "Into  thy  hands  do  I  commend  my  spirit!" 
and  expired. 

By  his  special  direction  he  was  buried  in  the  cathedral  at 
Aix-la-Chapelle  which  he  had  built.  He  was  buried  seated 
3 


34  A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  or  FRANCE  [771-814 

on  his  throne,  in  his  royal  robes,  with  his  crown  on  his 
head  and  his  sword  by  his  side ;  and  so  well  was  the  work 
of  the  embalmer  done  that  when  his  tomb  was  opened  two 
centuries  afterward,  he  still  sat  erect,  and  it  is  said  that  his 
features  were  easily  recognized.  The  crown,  which  was  of 
value,  was  taken  to  Vienna,  where  the  other  imperial  treas- 
ures are  ;  the  throne  you  can  still  see  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  ; 
and  once  every  seven  years  you  can  see  in  the  famous  cathe- 
dral of  that  place  the  collection  of  relics  which  were  sent 
him  by  the  pope. 

But  the  work  which  he  did  crumbled  into  dust  even  be- 
fore his  bones.  His  endeavor  to  revive  learning  proved  a 
failure  through  the  stupidity  of  the  nobility  and  the  jeal- 
ousy of  the  priests ;  his  empire  fell  to  pieces  like  a  house 
of  cards  ;  and  the  two  nations  whom  he  united  under  his 
sway,  and  over  which  he  dreamed  that  his  successors 
would  reign,  have  been  quarrelling  almost  ever  since,  and 
are  now  bitter  enemies,  waiting  an  opportunity  to  fly  at 
each  other's  throats. 


LOUIS   THE   GENTLE 
A.D.  814-843 

THE  son  and  successor  of  Charlemagne  was  named  Louis, 
and  as  it  was  the  custom  of  the  day  to  give  every  one  a 
nickname,  he  was  called  the  Gentle.  He  had  been  brought 
\ip  by  priests,  and  had  become  very  pious  indeed — so  pious 
that  one  of  his  first  acts  as  emperor  was  to  insist  on  priests 
leading  quiet  lives,  and  ceasing  to  carry  arms,  or  to  wear 
spurs,  or  to  ride  on  horseback  with  the  soldiers.  Two 
priests,  who  had  contrived  to  gain  a  good  deal  of  power 
under  his  father,  Charlemagne,  he  sent  to  their  monas- 
teries, and  ordered  them  to  remain  there.  No  poor  man 
appealed  to  him  for  justice  in  vain  :  he  heard  every  one 
patiently  and  righted  all  who  had  been  wronged.  So 
people  began  to  think  they  had  got  a  very  good  kind  of 
emperor  indeed. 

But  his  troubles  were  to  coine — and  from  his  own  fam- 
ily. Charlemagne  had  had  an  older  son  than  Louis — Pepin 
—who  died  before  his  father ;  his  son  Bernard  had  been 
set  over  the  Kingdom  of  Italy.  He  now  claimed  the  whole 
Empire  and  gathered  an  army  to  overthrow  his  uncle. 
But  after  it  had  marched  some  distance,  most  of  the  offi- 
cers lost  heart,  and  deserted,  so  that  Louis  easily  captured 
his  nephew  and  his  remaining  adherents.  He  was  so  good- 
natured  that  he  was  for  forgiving  them  ;  but  his  generals 
would  not  consent  to  that,  saying  that  death  was  the  proper 
doom  of  traitors.  So  said  Louis's  wife,  a  violent  woman 
named  Hermengarde.  Louis  still  refused  to  allow  his 
nephew  to  be  executed;  but  when  Hermengarde  said,  "At 
least,  the  traitor's  eyes  must  be  put  out,"  he,  very  reluc- 


36 


[814-343 


tantly,  consented.  Bernard  was  handed  over  to  his  cruel 
aunt,  who  put  his  eyes  out  so  roughly  that  he  died  three 
days  afterward.  She  soon  followed  him  to  the  grave. 

After  her  death  Louis  married  a  beautiful  and  wicked 
woman,  Judith  of  Bavaria.  She  despised  her  gentle  hus- 
band and  chose  as  her  best  friend  another  Bernard,  whose 


THE   NORMANS   ASCENDING   A   FRENCH   RIVER 

father  was  William  the  Short-nose.  The  pair  led  Louis  a 
miserable  life.  He  had  other  cares  beside.  A  race  of 
corsairs,  who  were  called  Northmen  or  Normans,  began  to 
prey  on  the  coasts  of  Europe,  from  England  as  far  round 
as  Sicily.  These  sea-rovers  came  from  Norway,  Sweden, 
and  Denmark,  and  in  search  of  plunder  sailed  the  stormiest 
seas  fearlessly  in  open  boats  without  decks.  They  were  as 
valiant  fighters  as  they  were  expert  mariners.  They  would 
land  near  a  sea-coast  town,  rob  it  of  everything  that  was 
•worth  taking,  and  scamper  off  to  sea  with  their  booty. 


814-843]  37 

One  branch  of  them,  who  came  from  Denmark,  actually 
conquered  England  and  held  it  for  many  years.  Anothjer 
branch  is  supposed  to  have  landed  in  New  England  five 
hundred  years  before  Columbus  discovered  America ;  but, 
as  they  did  not  find  anything  there  that  was  worth  steal- 
ing, they  did  not  stay.  Yet  a  third  band  swooped  down 
on  the  coast  of  France  and  ravaged  it  far  and  wide ;  they 
captured  many  prisoners,  but  afterward  they  got  so  much 
booty  trfiat  it  filled  their  ships,  and  they  had  to  release  their 
prisoners  to  make  room  for  it. 

The  story  of  their  ravages  filled  Louis's  tender  heart  with 
anguish.  He  was  distressed  beyond  measure,  too,  over  the 
memory  of  the  death  of  his  poor  nephew.  He  could  not 
forgive  himself  for  having  allowed  his  cruel  wife  to  put 
the  poor  boy's  eyes  out,  and  that  so  brutally  that  he  died 
of  the  operation.  He  brooded  over  these  things  till  he 
brought  himself  to  believe  that  he  should  do  public  pen- 
ance. 

He  entered  a  church,  walked  up  the  main  aisle,  went 
down  on  his  knees,  and  confessed  himself  a  sinner  in  the 
presence  of  the  whole  congregation,  while  the  bishops  and 
priests,  in  their  robes,  stood  in  front,  frowning  sternly  at 
him. 

The  priests  must  have  been  secretly  pleased  at  his  sub- 
mission to  the  Church,  but  the  nobles  and  soldiers  did  not 
like  it  at  all.  They  said  that  a  king  who  had  done  penance 
was  degraded,  and  was  not  fit  to  lead  armies.  And  they 
fell  to  plotting  his  overthrow.  Of  all  men  in  France,  they 
chose  as  their  leaders  in  the  conspiracy  the  king's  own 
sons — Lothair,  who  was  backed  by  the  pope,  and  Pepin,  who 
was  induced  to  join  by  Bernard,  the  son  of  Short -nose. 
The  rebels  met  the  king,  their  father,  on  the  plains  of  Al- 
sace. During  the  night,  the  pope  went  over  into  the  king's 
camp,  for  the  purpose,  as  he  said,  of  trying  to  settle  the 
dispute,  but  the  effect  of  his  meddling  was  the  desertion 
of  a  large  part  of  the  king's  army  next  morning.  As  gen- 
tle as  ever,  Louis  declared  that  he  would  have  no  man  lose 


3$  [814-848 

iiis  life  on  his  account,  and  walked  over  and  surrendered  to 
his  sou  Loth  air. 

Lothair  was  quite  capable  of  killing  his  father.  He  had 
thrust  a  lady  with  whom  he  quarrelled  into  a  wine-cask 
and  drowned  her  in  a  river.  But  he  was  afraid  of  the 
people,  and  he  called  a  council  of  bishops  to  try  the  king. 
Before  them  the  royal  prisoner  was  accused  of  a  long  list 
of  crimes,  foremost  among  which  was  the  murder  of  the 
nephew  whom  he  had  tried  to  save.  This  charge  was  fol- 
lowed by  others  equally  false  and  equally  absurd.  Bat 
the  poor,  weak  king  made  no  defence.  He  would  deny 
nothing — would  do  nothing  but  cry,  and  moan  that  he  was 
a  miserable  sinner. 

In  the  church  of  St.  Medard  at  Soissons — you  may  see 
parts  of  it  to-day — he  was  found  guilty  of  the  preposterous 
crimes  with  which  he  was  charged.  Archbishop  Nebo,  his 
foster-brother,  tore  his  baldric  from  his  shoulders  and  flung 
a  shirt  of  sackcloth  over  his  head.  His  son  Lothair  strip- 
ped him  of  belt  and  sword,  and  held  him  down  at  the  altar 
with  his  gray  hairs  sweeping  the  floor,  while  the  fierce 
priests  pronounced  sentence.  Lothair  then  led  him  to  the 
cathedral  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  which  his  father  Charlemagne 
had  built ;  there  he  stood  at  the  door,  in  the  wind  and 
rain, with  bare  feet  and  ashes  strewn  over  his  head,  making 
confession  to  all  the  people  of  crimes  which  he  had  not 
committed,  and  begging  the  pious  to  pray  for  him,  a  mis- 
erable sinner. 

But  the  wicked  princes  and  priests  overshot  their  mark. 
From  the  vast  crowd  which  had  assembled  to  see  the  king 
humbled,  a  piteous  groan  of  shame  and  sorrow  rose  to 
heaven.  Every  Frank  felt  that  he  had  been  insulted  in 
the  person  of  the  king.  Next  morning  the  people,  with 
the  nobles  at  their  head,  took  up  arms,  and  the  tables  were 
suddenly  turned.  The  bad  son  Lothair  fled  on  a  swift 
horse  and  took  no  rest  till  he  reached  Italy.  The  vile 
Archbishop  Nebo,  stripped  of  his  rank  and  wealth,  hid 
himself  in  a  distant  convent  and  was  never  heard  of  more. 


A  NOBLE'S  CAPTLE,  WITH  TOWK  AT  ITS  BASE 

Every  bishop  who  had  served  on  that  council  was  sent  into 
exile  and  deprived  of  his  property.  An  extraordinary 
mortality  broke  out  among  the  leaders  of  Lothair's  army — 
scores  of  them  died  within  the  year.  And  once  more  Louis 
the  Gentle  was  set  on  his  throne.  But  his  peace  was  not 
to  last. 

Another  son  of  his,  Louis  of  Bavaria,  clamored  for  more 
land  to  govern,  and,  the  king  refusing,  took  up  arms.  The 
father  was  then  sixty-three  years  of  age  and  much  broken 
by  the  sorrows  of  his  life,  but  he  sallied  forth  at  the  head 
of  his  armies  to  meet  his  rebellious  son  and  got  as  far  as 
the  bank  of  the  Rhine.  His  fatigue  and  vexation  there 
overcame  him,  and  he  was  carried  to  an  island  in  the 
river,  near  Mentz,  where  he  died.  From  his  death-bed  he 
sent  his  son  this  message  :  "  I  forgive  Louis ;  but  let  him 
look  to  himself,  who,  despising  God's  command,  has  brought 
his  father's  gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave." 


40  [S14-S4S 

Louis  was  a  well-meaning  man,  but,  as  you  will  see  as 
you  read  this  history,  something  more  than  good  intention 
is  required  of  a  king  to  make  his  country  happy.  Under 
his  reiijn  the  best  part  of  France  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
Church  and  the  nobles.  There  were  no  towns  of  any  sire 
except  those  which  grew  up  around  abbeys,  bishop's  pal- 
aces, or  baronial  castles,  Xobles  and  churchmen  cultivat- 
ed their  lands  with  slaves.  The  greatest  men  in  the  king- 
dom were  the  Archbishop  of  Rheims,  the  Bishop  of  St, 
Martin  at  Tours,  the  Bishop  of  St.  Hilary  at  Poitiers,  the 
Abbot  of  St,  Medard  at  Soissons,  the  Abbot  of  St,  Denis 
near  Paris.  They  were  lordly  personages,  with  mitres  on 
their  heads,  and  crooks  like  shepherdesses  in  their  hands  ; 
richer  and  more  powerful  than  the  dukes  and  counts,  for 
they  not  only  had  armies  at  their  command,  but  they  conld 
terrify  ignorant  people  by  threatening  them  with  all  sorts 
of  horrible  tortures  in  the  world  to  come.  When  Lothair 
marched  against  his  father,  he  took  with  him  a  pope  who 
threatened  those  who  refused  to  join  the  rebels  that  neither 
thev  nor  any  of  their  kith  or  kin  should  ever  be  married  by 
a  priest,  or  their  children  baptized,  or  their  dt-ad  buried 
with  the  rites  of  the  Church.  And  in  those  days  this  was 
considered  an  awful  doom. 

We  shall  have  occasion  before  we  come  to  the  end  of 
this  history  to  speak  of  some  bishops  and  priests  whose 
memory  you  can  rev«""  'ce.  But  in  these  old,  old  days  the 
clergy  were  not  a  s«j  s  as  managers  of  public  affairs. 


CHAPTER  YI 

HINCKMAR  THE   ARCHBISHOP 
A.D.  843-987 

Louis  THE  GENTLE  left  three  sons  :  two  by  the  cruel 
Herraengarde — Lothair,  the  son  who  had  humbled  him,  and 
Louis  of  Bavaria — and  one,  Charles,  by  Judith.  They  at 
first  divided  the  Empire  ;  then  fought  for  it ;  and  at  last  it 
fell  into  the  possession  of  Charles,  who  was  the  youngest 
and  was  bald. 

The  real  ruler  during  the  reign  of  Charles  was  Hinck- 
mar,  Archbishop  of  Rheims.  Charles  was  a  poor-spirited 
creature,  who  crouched  and  cowered  when  this  angry  priest 
lifted  his  finger  and  thundered  at  him  ;  and  really,  of  the 
two,  the  priest  was  more  of  a  man  than  the  king.  Any- 
thing in  the  shape  of  a  priest  or  a  bishop  made  Charles's 
knees  knock  together. 

A  priest  named  Venillo,  whom  Charles  had  made  an 
archbishop,  deserted  him  to  join  his  enemy  Louis  ;  where- 
upon Charles  wrote  a  whining  letter  to  the  council  of 
bishops,  complaining  that  it  was  mean  of  Venillo  to  have 
left  him  after  having  made  him  king,  anointed  him  with 
the  sacred  oil,  handed  him  the  royal  sceptre,  and  crowned 
him  with  the  royal  diadem.  He  asked  the  council  had  he 
not  always  been  obedient  to  the  Church  ?  Had  he  ever  re- 
fused to  bow  down  at  the  feet  of  the  bishops  and  submit 
to  their  fatherly  correction  ? 

Hinckmar  took  away  from  the  king  the  right  of  trying 
criminals  in  his  courts  ;  the  proper  persons  to  hold  courts, 
he  said,  were  the  priests.  And  when  the  king  wanted  sol- 
diers for  his  wars,  Hinckmar  required  him  to  get  them 
through  the  bishops~-whioh,  J  think^  was  §  queer  business 


42  [843-987 

for  a  servant  of  Christ  to  engage  in.  In  return,  Hinckraar 
promised  Charles  the  support  of  the  Church  whenever  he 
needed  it.  After  a  battle,  the  monks  of  St.  Medard  came 
forth  to  him  and  loaded  him  with  relics,  which  he  bore  on 
his  shoulders  to  the  cathedral  at  Rheims,  greatly  to  the 
edification  of  the  people.  And  when  Louis  of  Germany 
quarrelled  with  Charles,  Hinckmar  went  to  see  Louis  and 
took  a  very  high  tone  indeed.  "As  regards  myself,"  said 
the  haughty  churchman,  "  I  do  pardon  you.  But  as  to 
your  offences  against  the  Church  which  is  intrusted  to  my 
keeping,  I  can  only  offer  you  my  advice,  which  is  to  obtain 
absolution." 

Hinckmar  ruled  his  Church  with  an  iron  hand.  There 
was  a  priest  named  Gotteschalk,  who  had  opinions  on  re- 
ligion which  Hinckmar  did  not  like.  The  archbishop  sent 
a  band  of  soldiers  to  seize  Gotteschalk,  questioned  him,  and, 
finding  his  answers  not  satisfactory,  had  him  soundly  beat- 
en with  whips  and  locked  up  in  an  underground  dungeon 
with  the  bats  and  rats.  Gotteschalk  offered  to  prove  the 
truth  of  his  faith,  by  stepping  successively  into  three  bar- 
rels filled  with  boiling  water,  boiling  tar,  and  boiling  pitch. 
But  it  did  not  serve.  Hinckmar  sent  him  back  into  the 
dungeon.  It  was  not  particularly  safe,  at  that  time,  in 
France,  for  a  man  to  have  opinions  on  any  subject,  no  mat- 
ter how  he  offered  to  prove  their  truth. 

But  it  was  a  much  easier  thing  to  shut  up  a  priest  in  a 
dungeon  than  to  shut  up  the  Northern  pirates  in  their 
country.  Hinckmar  found  this  job  beyond  his  power. 
Every  year,  as  soon  as  the  spring-birds  began  to  sing,  these 
sea-rovers  came  swooping  down  upon  the  coasts  of  France, 
landing  in  some  sheltered  cove,  seizing  money,  jewels,  food, 
cattle,  and  young  girls,  and  dashing  off  to  sea  again  with 
their  booty.  By  and  by,  they  were  not  content  with  the 
sea-coast.  They  sailed  up  the  rivers,  in  their  broad  boats, 
with  ribs  of  iron,  and  with  great  beaks  of  bronze  and  ivory, 
fashioned  in  the  shape  of  a  serpent  or  a  bird  of  prey. 
Back  of  this  beak  stood  a  warrior,  shouting,  singing,  and 


843-987]  45 

gesticulating,  to  strike  terror  into  the  hearts  of  those  who 
saw  him  :  he  was  called  a  Berserkir,  which  in  the  Norman 
tongue  meant  a  madman.  Along  the  bank  of  the  river  ran 
other  warriors,  blowing  horns  and  bellowing  war-cries. 
When  the  poor  French  peasants  saw  a  fleet  of  these  boats 
come  sweeping  round  the  hill,  dashing  the  foam  from  their 
bows,  and  heard  the  horn  yonder  on  the  beach,  they  fled,  as 
swiftly  as  they  could,  with  wives  and  children,  and,  if  they 
had  time,  with  such  scraps  of  their  belongings  as  they 
could  pick  up,  to  the  nearest  castle  or  monastery.  Some- 
times the  count  or  the  abbot  was  strong  enough  to  give 
battle  to  the  pirates  ;  but  this  did  not  often  happen  ;  con- 
vents, churches,  and  castles  were  often  pretty  thoroughly 
robbed,  and  their  owners  killed  under  their  own  roofs.  The 
only  sure  way  to  get  rid  of  the  Northmen  was  to  buy  them 
off.  One  year,  Charles  paid  them  four  thousand  pounds  of 
silver  ;  the  next  year  he  paid  them  five  thousand  ;  the 
year  after  that  they  insisted  on  getting  six  thousand — and 
they  got. them.  The  abbot  of  the  rich  abbey  of  St.  Denys 
paid  them  a  sum  of  money  equal  to  three  hundred  thousand 
of  our  dollars. 

These  sea-rovers  were  not  all  Northmen.  Many  of  them 
were  vagabonds  of  other  races,  who  joined  the  Northmen 
for  plunder.  One  of  the  most  famous,  named  Hastings, 
was  a  French  peasant. 

Hearing  stories  of  the  rich  plunder  which  these  North- 
men got  in  the  North,  the  Moors  of  Spain  thought  they 
would  do  a  little  robbing  on  their  own  account  in  the 
South,  and  marched  one  day  upon  the  Archbishop  of  Aries, 
who  was  very  rich.  He  gave  them  battle  at  the  head  of 
his  soldiers,  but  three  hundred  of  the  latter  were  killed, 
and  the  archbishop  himself  was  taken.  His  people  sent  a 
messenger  to  bargain  for  his  release,  and  actually  paid  the 
Moors  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of  silver,  a  hundred  and 
fifty  cloaks,  a  hundred  and  fifty  swords,  and  a  hundred  and 
fifty  slaves.  This  was  on  account.  The  rest  of  the  ransom 
was  to  be  paid  as  soon  as  the  people  of  Aries  could  raise  it. 


46  [843-987 

Meanwhile,  the  archbishop,  who  was  a  prisoner  in  chains  on 
a  Moorish  vessel,  suddenly  died.  The  cunning  Moors  con- 
cealed the  fact  of  his  death,  and  kept  telling  the  Arles- 
ians  that  they  would  not  wait  much  longer  for  the  rest  of 
their  ransom,  but  would  cut  off  the  archbishop's  head  if  it 
were  not  forthcoming  soon  ;  whereupon  the  money  was 
made  up  and  sent  to  the  Moorish  chief.  When  it  was  re- 
ceived, the  Moors  set  the  archbishop  in  his  chair,  clad  in 
his  priestly  robes,  carried  him  on  shore,  dead  as  he  was, 
and  sailed  away. 

Things  had  got  to  such  a  dreadful  pass  that  Hinckmar 
himself  was  forced  to  confess  that  he  had  undertaken  to 
do  more  than  he  could.  lie  wrote  a  rather  manly  letter  to 
the  pope,  telling  him  that  neither  he  nor  the  king  was  able 
to  take  care  of  France,  and  would  His  Holiness  appoint  some 
one  who  could  ?  Several  members  of  the  family  of  Charles 
the  Bald  undertook  the  task  ;  one  of  them,  a  nephew  of 
Charles,  raised  an  army  in  Italy  for  the  purpose.  Charles 
marched  to  meet  him,  and  got  as  far  as  the  Alps.  There, 
being  suddenly  taken  ill,  near  Mont  Cenis,  he  was  carried 
to  the  hut  of  a  goatherd.  He  had  with  him  a  Jew  physi- 
cian, named  Zedekias  ;  this  man  is  said  to  have  poisoned 
him.  However  this  may  be,  he  died,  and  with  him  the 
Empire  which  Charlemagne  had  built  up  dissolved  into  air. 

After  him  one  of  his  sons,  who  was  called  Louis  the 
Stammerer,  pretended  to  be  emperor  and  king  for  a  few 
months,  but  nobody  minded  him,  either  while  he  lived  or 
when  he  died.  Two  sons  of  his  also  played  at  being  kings 
for  a  little  while,  but  soon  gave  up  the  game  ;  and  then  a 
son  of  one  of  them — who  was  called  Charles  the  Fat — pre- 
tended to  succeed.  He  was  too  fat  to  move  around.  The 
Normans  besieged  him  in  his  own  city  of  Paris,  and  captured 
every  fertile  valley  from  the  mouth  of  the  Seine  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Garonne.  He  finally  died  of  corpulence,  in 
the  year  877,  just  one  hundred  and  nine  years  after  Char- 
lemagne had  founded  the  Empire  of  the  West. 

Then  followed  another  century  of  such  horrible  confusion 


CHARLES  TIIE  BALD   AND  HIS   PUIESTS 


that  I  do  not  know  how  I  can  describe  it  to  you.  There 
were  a  number  of  real  or  pretended  descendants  of  Char- 
lemagne, each  of  whom,  in  his  turn,  claimed  to  be  king  or 
emperor,  but  could  not  keep  the  peace  in  his  own  back- 
yard, much  less  protect  his  subjects.  In  the  north,  bands 
of  Northmen,  in  the  south,  bands  of  Moors,  in  the  south- 
east, bands  of  Hungarians,  whose  faces  had  been  slashed 
by  their  fathers  to  make  them  more  hideous,  marched  into 
the  country  at  harvest-time,  and  carried  off  the  ripe  crops, 
adding  to  them  any  trifle  of  silver,  any  good  weapon,  any 


48  [843-987 

silk  or  linen  garment,  or  any  pretty  girl  they  found.  To 
resist  the  robbers,  the  peasants  armed  themselves,  picked 
out  their  bravest  men  to  lead  them,  and  did  their  little  best 
— they  could  not  do  much  ;  these  leaders  became  known 
as  counts  and  barons  and  dukes,  and  the  peasants  were 
quite  willing  that  they  should  take  pay  in  land  for  the 
work  they  did.  But  there  was  no  settled  order  or  author- 
ity anywhere. 

There  was  a  Count  of  Paris  named  Eudes,  who  was  a 
gallant  soldier,  and  was  very  powerful  for  ten  years  ;  there 
was  a  king  called  Charles  the  Simple,  who  is  said  to  have 
had  quite  a  long  reign.  There  was  a  brave  and  good  leader 
of  the  people  whose  name  was  Duke  Robert  of  Paris  ;  he 
had  a  good  and  brave  son  called  Hugh  the  White  ;  father 
and  son  were  for  many  years  more  powerful  than  any 
king  or  noble  in  France.  There  was  another  dreary  de- 
scendant of  Charlemagne  named  Louis,  who  was  called  the 
Foreigner,  because  he  had  been  brought  up  in  England  ; 
he  was  sometimes  in  prison  and  sometimes  on  the  throne 
— but  always  in  misery.  And  there  was  another  Lothair, 
who  is  chiefly  remembered  as  the  monarch  who  agreed  that 
Alsace  and  Lorraine  should  belong  to  Germany  and  not  to 
France.  But  greater  and  abler  than  all  of  these  was  the 
son  of  Hugh  the  White,  who  is  known  in  history  as  Hugh 
Capet,  and  was  chosen  by  a  national  assembly  of  bishops 
and  nobles  at  Rheims,  in  the  year  987,  to  be  King  of  France. 


CHAPTER  VII 

i 

THE    FEUDAL   SYSTEM 
A.D.  950-987 

IN  all  the  miserable  old  days  of  confusion  and  war  and 
pillage,  the  one  who  suffered  most  was  the  peasant.  Ev- 
erybody robbed  him.  He  was  lucky,  where  a  body  of 
armed  men  passed  his  way,  if  they  did  not  force  him  to 
join  them,  and  go  out  a-warring  for  a  cause  which  was 
not  his,  leaving  his  wife  and  children  to  starve.  As  to 
his  crops,  he  had  to  harvest  them  by  stealth,  and  hide 
them  when  they  were  harvested,  to  save  them  from  being 
stolen  by  some  rough-rider.  After  a  time  his  hardships  at 
the  hands  of  rival  kings  of  his  own  race,  or  Northmen  in 
the  North,  or  Moors  in  the  South,  became  so  unbearable 
that  he  was  of  necessity  driven  to  unite  with  his  neighbors 
for  common  defence  ;  and  out  of  this  union  grew  the  sys- 
tem called  the  feudal  system,  of  which  you  must  under- 
stand something,  if  you  wish  to  know  French  history.  The 
way  of  it  was  this  : 

After  a  smiling  valley  or  pleasant  village  had  been  raid- 
ed by  fighters  or  robbers,  the  people  would  meet  together 
and  agree  with  each  other  that  henceforth  they  would  stand 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  give  manful  battle  to  the  next 
robber  who  came  their  way ;  they  would  choose  the  bravest 
and  wisest  among  them  to  be  their  leader.  In  order  to  dis- 
tinguish him  from  the  rest,  he  should  be  called  lord,  or 
seigneur,  duke,  count,  or  baron.  In  order  that  he  should 
stand  loyally  by  the  peasants,  and  not  betray  them  or  di- 
vide their  substance  with  raiders,  it  was  agreed  all  the 
land  should  be  his,  and  that  the  peasant  should  hold  it  on 
lease  from  him.  But  the  rent  was  to  be  merely  nominal — 
4 


A  NOBLE'S  CASTLE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS 


as,  for  instance,  a  quart  of  grain,  a  sucking  pig,  or  a  fat 
goose  once  a  year  for  a  field  or  an  acre  ;  there  was  very 
little  money  at  that  time  in  the  country  parts  of  France. 
Furthermore,  it  was  agreed  that  whenever  the  lord  called 
upon  these  tenants  of  his  to  turn  out  and  fight,  they  were 
bound  to  do  so  ;  and  whenever  they  called  upon  him  to 
protect  them  against  robbers,  or  rough-riders,  or  North- 
men, or  Moors,  he  was  bound  to  do  so.  This  was  the  feu- 


950-987]  51 

dal  system,  which,  though  it  was  greatly  abused  in  later 
years,  was  an  admirable  contrivance  at  the  time  it  was  in- 
vented, and  gave  France  many  years  of  peace,  wealth,  and 
power.  The  land  which  was  owned  by  the  feudal  lords 
and  leased  to  their  tenants  was  called  a  fief,  and  the  ten- 
ants were  called  vassals.  Of  these  fiefs  there  were  one 
hundred  and  fifty  in  the  time  of  Hugh  Capet ;  indeed, 
there  was  very  little  land  in  the  kingdom  which  was  not 
included  in  some  fief,  and  the  plan  struck  those  smart  rob- 
bers, the  Northmen,  as  so  good  that  they  adopted  it,  and 
established  fiefs  of  their  own,  with  robber  chiefs  as  feudal 
lords  over  them.  One  of  these  lords  called  himself  Duke 
of  Normandy ;  you  will  often  hear  of  his  descendants  in 
the  course  of  this  history. 

In  course  of  time,  and  by  degrees,  these  feudal  lords 
came  to  be  kings  in  fact,  if  not  in  name,  in  their  respective 
fiefs.  They  had  their  own  armies,  their  own  courts,  their 
own  mints,  their  own  system  of  taxes,  their  own  laws — 
quite  independent  of  the  king  at  Paris ;  they  were,  it  is 
true,  required  to  pay  homage  to  the  king,  which  consisted 
in  holding  his  stirrup  when  he  went  riding,  or  some  such 
idle  formality  ;  but  practically  the  king  bad  no  authority 
over  them  at  all.  The  peasants  knew  no  superior  but  their 
own  feudal  lord. 

The  kingdom  which  Hugh  Capet  was  called  upon  to 
reign  over  was  thus  cut  down  to  a  small  piece  of  the  Em- 
pire which  Charlemagne  had  ruled,  and  only  a  small  bit  of 
modern  France.  It  took  in  the  valleys  of  the  Seine  and 
the  Loire,  but  not  Rouen  or  Nantes,  or  anything  east  of 
the  Rhine,  or  south  of  the  Loire,  or  west  of  the  Mayenne. 
The  Duke  of  Aquitaine,  who  was  a  feudal  lord,  ruled  a 
much  larger  country,  and  so  did  the  Duke  of  Burgundy, 
who  was  another. 

The  system  suited  neither  the  king  nor  the  Church. 
Hugh  Capet  constantly  found  himself  crossed  by  feudal 
lords  as  powerful  as  he  and  very  jealous  of  their  power. 
As  for  the  Church,  it  had  gone  out  of  politics,  and  the 


DEFENDING  A  BATTLEMENT 

priests  were  minding  their  proper  business  of  preaching 
and  praying.  A  bishop  was  no  better  than  any  one  else. 
Except  that  he  could  still  refuse  to  baptize  a  child,  or  to 
marry  a  young  couple,  or  to  bury  the  dead,  and  that  he 
still  claimed  to  be  able  to  sentence  his  enemies  to  millions 
of  years  of  torment  in  another  world,  he  was  not  of  as 


960-987]  53 

much  consequence  as  a  valiant  man-at-arms.  So  the 
priests  looked  soui-ly  on  the  feudal  lords,  and  as  for  Hugh 
Capet,  he  could  hardly  keep  his  hands  off  them. 

Neither  could  do  much,  however.  A  feudal  count  or  baron 
thought  nothing  of  locking  up  a  bishop  for  a  dozen  years 
in  an  underground  dungeon  and  appointing  his  butler  to 
take  his  place  ;  and  as  for  the  king,  when  he  ventured  to 
take  a  feudal  lord  to  task,  the  reply  came  quick,  "  Pray, 
who  made  you  king?" 

But  the  king  and  the  priests  became  fast  friends. 
When  a  Prince  of  Lorraine  came  to  Rheims  with  his 
young  wife,  to  see  if  there  was  any  chance  of  getting  a 
crown  in  France,  the  priests  sent  secret  information  to 
Hugh,  who  seized  the  prince  and  his  wife  while  they  were 
praying  in  the  cathedral  during  Holy  Week,  and  had  them 
carried  off  to  Orleans,  where  the  prince  soon  died. 

And,  in  order  to  show  the  people  how  much  he  thought 
of  the  Church,  Hugh  Capet  would  never  wear  kingly  robes, 
but  always  appeared  in  public  in  the  gown  of  an  abbot, 
having  been  at  one  time  Abbot  of  St.  Martin  at  Tours. 
His  last  injunction  to  his  son  on  his  death-bed  was  to  stand 
by  the  Church,  and  never  to  allow  the  nobles  to  despoil  it; 
for,  he  said,  no  matter  how  well  these  feudal  lords  may  get 
on  at  first,  you  may  depend  upon  it  that  the  Church  will 
win  in  the  end. 

We  shall  see,  as  this  history  goes  on,  how  near  this 
prophecy  came  to  the  truth. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   END   OF  THE  WORLD 
A.D.    996-1000 

IN  the  year  of  Our  Lord  996,  Hugh  Gapet  died,  and  his 
son  Robert  succeeded  him.  Now,  it  was  the  belief  of  good 
Christians  that  the  world  was  to  come  to  an  end,  and  that 
the  Day  of  Judgment  was  to  come  in  the  year  1000.  This 
curious  notion  had  been  formed  by  putting  on  certain  texts 
in  the  Bible  a  meaning  which  they  cannot  bear  ;  the  de- 
lusion had  lasted  so  long  that  it  was  deeply  rooted,  and  a 
man  who  doubted  it  was  set  down  as  no  better  than  an  in- 
fidel. In  every  church  throughout  Christendom  priests 
preached  about  the  end  of  the  world  as  a  thing  fixed  and 
settled,  and  in  view  of  which  devout  Christians  should  put 
their  souls  in  order  against  the  coming  of  the  Lord. 

As  if  this  was  not  enough  to  make  people  downhearted, 
famines  and  epidemic  diseases  broke  out  in  many  places. 
You  know  very  well  that  famines  are  caused  by  crop  fail- 
ures, and  that  when  laborers  are  taken  from  their  farms  to 
become  soldiers  crops  are  apt  to  fail.  You  also  know  that 
famines,  when  people  have  not  enough  to  eat  or  when  they 
have  to  eat  poor  food,  are  almost  sure  to  be  followed  by 
outbreaks  of  disease,  especially  in  places  where  the  drain- 
age is  bad.  So  you  can  account  for  the  famines  and  the 
pestilences  in  a  very  simple  way.  But  nine  hundred  years 
ago  people  did  not  know  as  much  as  you  do,  and  they 
ignorantly  supposed  that  famine  and  pestilence  were  the 
works  of  an  angry  God.  The  priesthood  proclaimed  that 
they  were  a  warning  from  God  to  prepare  for  the  end  of 
the  world. 

I  suppose  that  there  never  was  a  time  in  the  history  of 


996-1000]  55 

France  when  the  people  were  more  miserable  than  they 
were  then.  Starving  people  ate  rats,  roots  and  bark  of 
trees,  grass,  and  human  bodies.  Little  children  were  lured 

7    O  ' 

into  lonely  places,  killed,  and  eaten.  A  butcher  in  a  small 
town  offered  human  flesh  for  sale  on  his  stall.  The  judge 
had  him  arrested — he  was  sentenced  to  be  burned  to  death. 
On  the  night  of  his  burial  his  roasted  body  was  dug  up 
and  was  eaten  by  a  hungry  man,  who  was  caught  at  it  and 
was  burned  to  death  too.  One  man,  who  kept  an  inn  in  a 
forest,  killed  and  ate  his  guests — forty-eight  skulls  were 
found  in  his  cellar.  Everybody  was  lean  and  hungry  but 
the  wolves — they  grew  fat. 

When  the  pestilence  broke  out,  no  one  knew  how  to  cure 
it.  The  doctors  were  as  ignorant  as  the  rest.  The  only 
remedy  that  was  advised  was  to  go  on  a  pilgrimage  to  a 
church  and  do  penance.  Thousands  of  poor  stricken  creat- 
ures, and  other  thousands  who  were  still  well  but  in  dread 
of  the  disease,  took  the  advice  and  crowded  the  churches 
and  the  graveyards  round  them.  At  Limoges  the  crowd 
grew  so  dense  that  those  who  were  well  took  the  disease 
from  those  who  were  sick,  and  they  died  together  in  heaps, 
poisoning  the  air.  The  priests  did  what  they  could  :  they 
brought  out  their  best  relics,  from  all  parts  of  France,  and 
waved  them  over  the  sufferers,  trying  to  drive  the  disease 
away.  But  I  need  not  tell  you  that  the  poor  sick  people 
went  on  dying  as  before. 

Then  men  and  women  believed  that  the  end  of  the  world 
was  coming  in  reality.  Those  who  were  in  business  shut 
up  their  shops.  Those  who  had  farms  gave  them  to  the 
Church.  Those  who  had  money  laid  it  on  the  shrine  of 
some  saint,  as  though  they  could  buy  a  place  in  heaven  as 
you  buy  a  place  at  the  theatre.  Every  one  spent  his  days 
in  prayer — in  a  church  if  he  could  get  in,  and  when  the 
churches  were  all  filled  on  the  open  roadside.  It  was  not 
the  poor  and  ignorant  only  who  gave  way  to  terrors.  The 
Duke  of  Normandy  got  a  friar's  robe  and  insisted  on  be- 
coming a  monk.  The  Duke  of  Burgundy  would  have  done 


56  [996-1000 

the  like,  but  was  forbidden  by  the  pope.  The  Emperor 
Henry  went  to  the  abbey  at  Verdun,  and  was  actually 
admitted  as  a  monk  ;  but  the  abbot,  who  was  a  man  of 
common-sense,  set  him  the  penance  of  going  home  and 
attending  to  his  business  as  emperor. 

I  must  say  that  the  priests  behaved  very  well  at  this 
trying  time.  They  believed — as  other  people  did — that  the 
end  of  the  world  was  at  hand,  but  they  faithfully  and  in- 
trepidly attended  to  their  work,  and  when  people  confessed 
to  them  with  open  and  contrite  hearts  they  insisted  that 
their  penitents  should  forswear  quarrelling  and  lighting, 
stealing,  drinking,  and  riotous  behavior  in  future.  They 
got  a  great  deal  of  land  through  the  ignorant  terrors  of  the 
people ;  but,  as  it  turned  out,  they  did  a  great  deal  of 
good  in  return  for  it. 

And  the  year  1000  came,  and  throughout  every  week 
and  every  month  of  it  men  looked  to  the  sky  for  the  com- 
ing of  the  angel  of  the  Lord.  But  I  need  not  tell  you  that 
the  sky  was  just  as  serene  as  ever,  nor  were  there  any  un- 
usual storms  or  strange  appearances.  And  when  October 
and  November  and  December  passed,  and  yet  the  world 
stood  where  it  was,  and  no  fire  nor  flood  from  heaven 
marked  the  beginning  of  the  end,  the  priests  took  courage 
to  say  that  by  reason  of  the  penitence  of  the  people  a 
merciful  God  had  stayed  his  hand,  and  that  the  world 
might  endure  a  little  longer.  Many  centuries  had  to  elapse 
before  people  knew  that  the  planets  which  have  been 
planted  in  this  universe  are  born,  and  flourish,  and  die  in 
obedience  to  fixed  laws  of  which  we  cannot  measure  the 
duration  or  the  working.  But  in  1001  mankind  breathed 
more  freely  when  they  found  that  the  sun  rose  and  set,  and 
the  winds  blew,  and  the  rains  fell,  and  the  earth  continued 
to  yield  her  increase,  just  as  all  these  things  had  occurred 
throughout  the  memory  of  man. 


CHAPTER   IX 

KING    AND    POPE 

A.D.  996-1031 

ROBERT,  King  of  France,  son  of  Hugh  Capet,  had  been 
educated  by  the  Archbishop  of  Rheims  —  who  afterward 
became  pope — and  was,  for  that  day,  a  learned  and  refined 
man.  He  was  an  excellent  musician  and  a  good  architect. 
He  knew  so  much  of  mechanics  that  he  was  suspected  of 
being  a  sorcerer,  as  the  archbishop  his  teacher  had  been 
when  he  made  a  clock  for  his  cathedral.  He  was  devout, 
kind,  just,  and  gentle,  the  first  king  of  France,  I  think, 
whom  you  can  really  like. 

But  his  life  was  a  sad  one.  Before  he  became  king  he 
married  Bertha,  who  was  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy and  widow  of  the  Count  of  Blois — a  lovely  woman, 
to  whom  he  was  tenderly  attached.  Now  Bertha  was 
Robert's  fourth  cousin,  and  had  besides  been  godmother 
to  a  child  whose  godfather  Robert  was.  The  Emperor  of 
Germany  objected  to  the  marriage,  because  he  feared  it 
would  lead  to  a  union  between  France  and-  Burgundy, 
and  would  defeat  schemes  he  had  himself  laid  to  get  hold 
of  the  duchy.  So  he  persuaded  the  pope  to  declare  the 
marriage  null  and  void,  on  the  ground  that  Robert  and 
Bertha  were  too  closely  related  to  marry.  Robert  flatly 
refused  to  part  with  his  dear  wife. 

On  this  the  pope  issued  a  decree  ordering  Robert  to  re- 
nounce his  wife  and  do  penance  for  seven  years.  "If  he 
refuse  to  obey,"  said  the  decree,  "let  him  be  anathema." 

Robert  did  refuse.  Nothing,  he  said,  should  part  him 
from  the  woman  he  loved. 

Then  the  pope  laid  his  kingdom  under  an  interdict,    All 


58  [996-1031 

the  churches  were  closed  and  the  bells  muffled.  The 
pictures  of  the  Crucifixion  and  of  the  saints  were  taken  down 
and  wrapped  in  canvas.  The  statues  were  laid  on  beds  of 
thorns  and  ashes.  A  couple  of  young  lovers,  coming  hand 
in  hand  to  the  priest  to  be  married,  were  driven  roughly 
away.  A  mother,  bringing  her  infant  to  be  baptized,  was 
not  allowed  to  approach  the  font,  and  was  ordered  out  of 
the  church.  The  relations  of  a  dead  person  could  not  in 
any  way  induce  a  priest  to  say  a  prayer  over  the  body  as 
it  was  lowered  into  the  grave.  All  this  because  the  Pope 
of  Rome  wanted  to  help  the  Emperor  of  Germany  in  his 
designs  on  the  Duchy  of  Burgundy. 

The  interdict  lay  more  heavily  on  the  king  than  any  one 
else.  He  was  pronounced  to  be  anathema — an  accursed 
thing.  No  one  could  talk  to  him  or  keep  his  company. 
The  clothes  he  had  worn,  the  dishes  out  of  which  he  had 
eaten,  the  cups  out  of  which  he  had  drunk,  were  thrown 
into  the  fire  and  burned.  If  any  one  touched  him  in  pass- 
ing he  had  to  go  home  and  wash  all  over.  When  people 
saw  him  coming  they  ran  away. 

You  may  fancy  how  this  dreadful  curse  of  the  pope's 
distressed  the  ignorant  people  of  France.  They  were  in- 
tensely religious,  and  they  believed  that  an  unbaptized 
person  who  died  without  the  sacrament,  or  had  no  prayers 
said  at  his  funeral,  would  endure  everlasting  torment  in 
the  world  to  come,  in  lakes  of  fire  and  brimstone.  They 
loved  their  king,  and  they  stood  by  him  in  his  resolve  to 
keep  his  wife  ;  but  the  interdict  laid  upon  them  more  than 
they  could  bear.  They  flocked  to  the  king,  and  besought 
him  to  relieve  them  of  a  hardship  which  made  their  lives 
a  burden  and  a  curse. 

Robert  would  have  fought  the  pope  to  the  end,  but  he 
could  not  resist  his  people.  He  put  away  his  wife.  And 
not  only  that.  At  the  earnest  demand  of  the  French,  who 
wanted  an  heir  to  the  throne  so  as  to  avoid  civil  war  here- 
after, he  married  another — a  dreadful  woman  named  Con- 
stance. But  his  heart  was  always  faithful  to  the  wife  of 


SWEARING   ON  RELICS 


his  youth,  and  when  he  died,  thirty  years  afterward,  her 
name  was  on  his  lips. 

After  his  surrender  to  the  Church  he  was  in  high  favor 
with  the  priests,  and  according  to  the  church  chronicles 
many  miracles  were  wrought  in  his  honor.  New  churches 
were  built  all  over  the  country,  and  old  ones  restored : 
and  in  many  cases  the  finishing  touches  to  these  buildings 


60  [996-1031 

were  given  by  angels,  who  came  down  from  heaven  for  the 
purpose,  I  suppose,  with  paint-pots  under  their  wings.  Of 
course  the  priests,  among  whom  were  good  architects, 
clever  painters,  and  gifted  sculptors,  had  nothing  to  do 
with  them.  At  least,  they  said  they  had  not.  In  odd  places 
queer  old  bones  were  dug  up,  which  the  bishops  at  once 
recognized  as  relics  of  saints  who  had  died  hundreds  of 
years  before;  angels  again — what  would  they  have  done 
without  angels? — confidentially  told  the  bishops  that  these 
relics  had  been  kept  hid  for  all  these  years  on  purpose  that 
they  should  be  discovered  in  the  reign  of  Robert,  who  was 
so  good  a  churchman. 

He  was  besieging  a  castle  which  held  out  with  courage 
and  baffled  his  best  efforts.  On  a  certain  day  during  the 
siege  he  left  his  camp,  entered  the  church  of  St.  Denis,  and 
led  the  choir  in  singing  a  hymn.  At  the  very  moment  the 
hymn  ended  the  walls  of  the  castle  fell  down,  and  he  qui- 
etly walked  in  when  the  service  was  over. 

Robert's  heart  was  so  full  of  kindness  that  he  couldn't 
punish  a  thief  if  he  was  poor.  When  a  ragged  beggar 
was  caught  stealing  some  silver  from  the  royal  lance,  he 
thrust  the  silver  hastily  into  the  thief's  wallet  and  bade 
him  begone,  lest  the  queen  should  find  him  ;  and  when  she 
asked  what  had  become  of  the  silver,  he  answered,  with  a 
vacant  look,  that  be  really  could  not  tell. 

A  monk  stole  a  silver  candlestick  from  an  altar,  and  the 
king  saw  him.  When  the  queen  heard  of  it,  she  flew  into 
a  passion  and  swore  that  she  would  have  the  eyes  torn-  out 
of  the  keepers'  heads  if  they  did  not  discover  the  thief. 
On  this  Robert  went  to  the  monk  saying,  "  Haste  thee 
hence,  my  friend,  lest  my  Constance  eat  thee  up."  And 
he  gave  him  money  to  take  him  home. 

A  rascal  once  crept  under  the  table  where  he  was  dining 
and  cut  off  a  gold  ornament  which  hung  from  his  belt. 
The  queen  missed  the  ornament  and  asked,  "  What  enemy 
of  God  has  dishonored  your  gold-adorned  robe  ?" 

The   king   laughed   and   replied,  "Probably   some   one 


&96-1031]  61 

who  wanted  the  ornament  more  than  I  did;  with  God  to 
aid,  it  will  be  of  more  service  to  him  than  it  was  to  me." 

Like  most  religious  men  in  his  day,  he  thought  that  an 
oath  taken  on  a  relic  was  more  sacred  than  a  common 
oath.  It  was  the  custom  to  make  the  nobles  of  his  court 
take  an  oath  of  allegiance  on  a  box  in  which  there  was  a 
relic  of  great  power.  Robert  noticed  how  many  of  these 
oaths  were  broken.  To  save  the  nobles  from  committing 
mortal  sin,  he  took  the  relic  out  and  put  an  egg  in  its 
place.  Now,  said  he,  they  can  forswear  themselves  with- 
out dooming  their  souls  to  eternal  damnation.  As  though 
a  false  oath  sworn  over  an  egg  was  less  wicked  than  a  false 
oath  sworn  over  a  dead  man's  finger-bone  ! 

All  this  while  Robert  was  unhappy  with  his  wife.  She 
was  a  Southern  woman,  fond  of  gayety  and  dancing  and 
frolic,  which  the  king  abhorred.  She  had  brought  with 
her  from  the  South  a  number  of  gentlemen  and  ladies 
who,  like  her,  wanted  to  lead  merry  lives.  They  got  up 
revel  after  revel,  and  laughed  at  Robert  because  he  refused 
to  take  part  in  them.  Their  appearance  was  strange  to 
the  Parisians.  The  men  shaved  their  chins,  cut  their  hair 
short,  and  wore  boots  which  turned  up  at  the  toes ;  they 
affected  to  be  dandies,  and  sneered  at  the  rough  manners 
of  the  Northern  friends  of  Robert.  The  king  would  have 
sent  them  home,  but  the  queen,  whom  Robert  called  "  my 
Constance,"  had  a  way  of  flying  into  rages,  when  every 
one,  including  her  husband,  made  haste  to  get  out  of  her 
reach  ;  and  so  her  Southern  court  remained  to  the  end. 

She  was  so  violent  a  woman  that  when  two  priests  were 
accused  of  being  heretics,  because  they  differed  from  their 
bishops  on  points  of  doctrine,  and  were  sentenced  to  be 
burned  at  the  stake,  she  insisted  on  going  out  of  her  pal- 
ace to  see  them  pass  by.  One  of  them  was  known  to  the 
queen ;  at  sight  of  him  she  flew  into  a  rage,  and,  seizing 
an  iron-tipped  stick  from  the  hand  of  an  attendant,  she 
knocked  the  poor  priest's  eye  out  with  a  blow. 

Toward  the  end  of  his  reign,  the  brutal  temper  of  this 


QUEEN   CONSTANCE  STRIKES  OUT  A  PRIEST'S  EYE 

woman  and  the  growing  impudence  of  the  feudal  lords 
made  life  bitter  to  the  king.  He  could  do  nothing  for 
himself,  for  the  queen  ruled  him  as  if  he  had  been  a  child ; 
and  he  could  do  little  for  the  people,  for  the  feudal  lords 
would  have  no  interference  with  their  vassals.  So  per- 
haps he  was  not  sorry  when  the  end  came,  after  he  had 
reigned  over  France  for  thirty-five  years. 


CHAPTER  X 

ROBERT   THE   DEVIL 

A.D.  1031-1060 

THE  most  powerful  feudal  lord  in  France  at  this  time 
was  the  Duke  of  Normandy.  His  name  was  Robert.  He 
was  the  second  son  of  his  father,  and  therefore  would  not 
naturally  have  succeeded  to  the  duchy ;  but  he  invited  his 
elder  brother  and  several  other  friends  to  a  banquet,  and 
next  morning  they  were  all  found  dead  in  their  beds.  For 
this  dreadful  deed  the  Normans  gave  him  the  name  of 
Robert  the  Devil.  His  story  inspired  one  of  the  greatest 
composers  of  modern  times  with  the  idea  of  an  opera  which 
I  dare  say  you  have  seen. 

When  King  Robert  of  France  died  in  the  year  1031 — as  I 
told  you  in  the  last  chapter — he  left  two  sons:  Henry,  who 
was  the  eldest,  and  Robert.  Their  mother,  the  bad  Queen 
Constance,  insisted  that  Robert  should  succeed,  because  he 
was  her  favorite.  Henry  appealed  to  the  pope,  who  answer- 
ed that  he  was  the  rightful  heir.  But  Constance  and  Robert 
took  the  field  at  the  head  of  the  army  and  set  Henry  and 
his  friend  the  pope  at  defiance.  Then  Henry  sent  to  Rob- 
ert the  Devil,  who  was  never  so  happy  as  when  he  was 
fighting,  and  asked  him  whether  he  would  help  him. 

Robert  the  Devil  replied,  "  With  all  my  heart." 

For  he  had  set  his  heart  on  a  corner  of  France  which 
he  thought  would  fit  nicely  into  Normandy  ;  and  he  had  re- 
solved to  make  this  corner,  which  was  called  the  Vezin, 
the  price  of  his  services. 

He  kept  his  word.  Robert  the  Devil  met  Robert  the 
Prince  in  three  battles  and  utterly  defeated  him.  His 
mother,  wicked  Constance,  flew  into  such  rages  at  being 


64  [1031-1060 

baffled  in  her  object — she  had  not  often  been  crossed  in 
her  angry  life — that  she  went  home  and  died.  Her  son 
Robert  disappeared,  Henry  was  acknowledged  by  every 
one  as  lawful  king  of  France  under  the  name  of  Henry  the 
First,  and  the  Duke  of  Normandy  got  the  Vezin  country 
which  he  had  coveted. 

But  just  then  there  broke  out  another  of  those  dreadful 
famines  which  were  always  befalling  France,  partly  be- 
cause the  peasants,  under  their  feudal  lords,  would  go  on 
fighting,  although  they  had  promised  the  priests  they 
would  do  so  no  more.  When  they  neglected  to  plough 
and  manure  their  fields  the  crops  were  sure  to  be  short. 
There  was  no  grain  anywhere,  and  in  whole  districts  peo- 
ple starved  to  death.  So  many  unburied  corpses  lay  by 
the  road-side  that  the  wolves  feasted  on  human  flesh  ;  and 
having  acquired  the  taste  of  it,  began  to  attack  the  living. 
The  feudal  lords  had  to  turn  out  at  the  head  of  their  sol- 
diers to  fight  the  ferocious  beasts. 

The  bishops  declared  that  the  famine  was  a  visitation 
from  God  to  punish  the  people  for  their  wickedness.  They 
were  brave  enough  to  tell  the  Duke  of  Normandy  to  his 
face  that  it  was  God's  punishment  for  the  crimes  which 
had  won  him  the  name  of  Robert  the  Devil.  He  was  ter 
ribly  frightened.  His  conscience  smote  him  and  told  h'm 
that  the  bishops  were  probably  right.  So  he  humbled  him- 
self and  besought  them  to  tell  him  how  he  could  make 
atonement  before  God. 

"  You  must  go  on  foot,"  said  the  bishops,  "  to  the  tomb 
of  Christ  in  the  country  of  Palestine  and  there  do  penance 
for  your  sins." 

You  will  probably  think  that  it  was  an  excellent  idea  to 
have  him  do  penance — he  had  sins  enough,  in  all  conscience, 
to  repent  of — but  why  the  penance  and  repentance  could 
not  have  been  done  at  home,  where  they  might  have  served 
as  an  example  to  others,  it  is  not  so  easy  to  see.  But  the 
bishops  insisted  on  Palestine,  and  to  Palestine  he  went. 

It  is  a  long  walk  from  Normandy  to  Palestine,  and  Rob- 


1031-1060]  65 

ert  the  Devil  had  to  find  his  way  over  river,  mountain, 
bog,  and  wild,  besides  escaping  the  clutches  of  fierce  races 
which  regarded  strangers  as  natural  prey.  But  Robert 
overcame  or  eluded  them  all,  and  in  due  time  found  him 
self  at  the  place  where  Christ  had  been  buried  over  a  thou- 
sand years  before.  It  was  a  barren,  sandy  spot,  with  a  few 
valleys  in  which  vines  grew  and  slopes  on  which  olives 
still  spread  their  twisted  branches  to  the  sky.  Here  and 
there  were  square  forts,  with  loop-holes  out  of  which  bow- 
men shot  arrows,  and  flat  roofs  on  which  the  soldiers  slept 
in  the  cool  night  breezes.  The  country  was  owned  by  the 
Moors  or  Saracens,  who  were  followers  of  Mohammed 
and  did  not  believe  in  Christianity. 

When  Robert  asked  them  could  he  do  penance  on  the 
tomb  of  Christ,  they  answered,  "Why  not?" 

And  he  said  all  the  prayers  and  made  all  the  confessions 
he  wanted  without  hindrance,  the  Moors  sitting  silently 
by  and  gravely  watching  him. 

Then  he  turned  his  face  homeward,  but  before  he  could 
get  back  into  Europe  he  fell  ill  and  died.  So  there  was 
an  end  of  his  history. 

But  he  left  behind  him  a  son  who  became  more  famous 
than  he,  both  in  France  and  in  England.  This  was  Will- 
iam, who  is  called  William  the  Conqueror,  because  he  con- 
quered England  in  the  year  1066.  His  mother  was  a  poor 
tanner's  daughter,  with  whom  Robert  had  fallen  in  love  as 
he  watched  her  washing  clothes  in  a  brook.  She  never  be- 
came Robert's  wife,  nor  is  there  much  said  of  her  in  the 
histories  of  her  famous  son.  William  not  only  conquered 
England  and  made  it  Norman,  setting  up  Norman  lords 
to  govern  the  English,  and  the  Norman  tongue  in  the  place 
of  the  Anglo-Saxon  tongue  which  the  people  then  spoke, 
but  he  became  more  powerful  in  France  than  the  king,  and 
his  history  is,  perhaps,  better  entitled  to  be  considered  the 
history  of  France  in  his  day  than  is  the  history  of  Henry 
the  First,  Regent  Baldwin,  and  Philip  the  First,  who  were 
the  nominal  rulers  of  the  kingdom  during  his  time, 
5 


CHAPTER  XI 

PHILIP  THE   FIRST 

A.D.  1060-1108 

WHEN  Henry  the  First  died,  his  son  and  successor, 
Philip  the  First,  was  only  eight  years  old,  but  his  father 
had  chosen  Baldwin  of  Flanders  to  be  his  guardian  ;  and,  as 
he  was  a  prudent  man,  no  serious  trouble  befell  France 
while  Philip  was  growing  up.  But  when  lie  grew  to  man- 
hood he  met  with  trouble  enough. 

William,  the  son  of  Robert  the  Devil,  had  become  King 
of  England  as  well  as  Duke  of  Normandy,  and  with  him 
Philip  picked  a  quarrel.  His  choice  of  an  enemy  was  un- 
lucky:  William  fought  him  time  and  again,  and  the  King 
of  France  was  always  beaten.  After  one  of  these  defeats 
Philip  made  some  coarse  joke  about  William's  size :  he 
was  fat,  and  his  stomach  was  prodigious.  The  joke  was 
repeated  to  William,  who  flew  into  a  rage,  invaded  Philip's 
dominions,  and  took  and  burned  the  town  of  Nantes.  You 
will  perceive  that  whenever  these  kings  or  dukes  quar- 
relled, it  was  their  subjects  who  paid  the  penalty.  As  he 
rode  over  the  burning  ruins  of  Nantes,  William's  horse 
trod  on  a  hot  cinder  and  started,  throwing  his  rider  on 
the  pommel  of  the  saddle.  William  was  carried  into  a 
house  and  died  of  the  injury.  So  Philip  was  rid  of  his 
worst  enemy. 

But  another  soon  took  his  place.  The  pope  of  that  day 
ia  called  in  history  Gregory  the  Seventh.  But  he  is  best 
known  by  the  name  he  bore  before  he  became  pope — which 
was  Hildebrand.  He  was  imperious  and  domineering  and 
really  believed  that  he  was  head  not  only  of  the  Church, 
but  also  of  the  world.  He  led  a  pure  life  himself  and  in- 


1060-1108]  67 

sisted  that  all  others  should  do  the  like.  Unfaithful  .bish- 
ops and  priests  he  punished  without  mercy.  It  was  he  who 
put  a  stop  to  the  marriage  of  priests.  He  resolved  to  set 
the  popes  above  all  the  kings  of  the  earth,  and  he  very 
nearly  succeeded.  He  quarrelled  with  the  kings  of  Hun- 
gary, Poland,  and  Spain,  and  insulted  them — daring  them 
to  resent  the  insult.  He  defied  the  Emperor  of  Germany 
and  kept  up  the  defiance  till  he  died.  He  turned  on  Philip 
of  France  and  bullied  him,  threatening  him  with  all  the 
curses  of  the  Church,  which  at  that  time  was  rich  in  curses. 

Philip  most  certainly  deserved  to  be  bullied.  He  was  a 
poor  wreak  creature,  who  was  always  doing  wrong,  begging 
pardon  for  it,  promising  not  to  do  so  any  more,  and  then 
straightway  repeating  the  offence.  He  had  a  good  wife, 
Bertha  of  Flanders,  who  had  born  him  several  children  ;  he 
put  her  away  and  locked  her  up  in  a  castle  at  Montreuil. 
Then  he  fell  in  love  with  another  man's  wife — Bertrade  of 
Anjou — and  persuaded  her  to  elope  with  him.  She,  being 
proud,  insisted  on  being  married  to  the  king.  He  issued 
his  orders  to  the  bishops,  and  they  performed  the  ceremony, 
though  Philip's  wife  was  still  living  in  her  lonesome  prison. 

On  this  the  pope  boldly  excommunicated  both  the  king 
and  the  lady.  Philip  cringed  and  crawled  in  his  usual 
mean  way  :  he  laid  down  his  crown  and  sceptre,  and  prom- 
ised to  give  up  Bertrade,  on  which  the  pope  withdrew  his 
excommunication.  But  it  was  no  sooner  withdrawn  than 
Philip  took  Bertrade  back  and  went  on  governing  as  be- 
fore. 

A  great  council  was  held  at  Clermont,  about  a  matter 
of  which  I  shall  tell  you  in  the  next  chapter.  All  the  clergy 
were  present,  including  the  pope.  It  was  not  Hildebrand — 
who  had  been  driven  out  of  Italy  by  the  Emperor  of  Ger- 
many and  had  died  a  fugitive,  saying  with  his  last  breath, 
"  I  have  loved  righteousness  and  hated  iniquity,  and  there- 
fore I  die  in  exile  " — but  his  successor  Urban.  This  pope 
again  excommunicated  Philip  and  declared  that  any  place 
that  harbored  him  or  Bertrade  should  be  laid  under  an  in- 


68  [1060-1108 

terdict ;  whereupon  Philip  made  a  great  show  of  putting 
her  away,  but  when  the  pope's  back  was  turned  he  went 
to  live  with  her  as  before  and  had  her  formally  crowned 
as  queen. 

People  despised  him  so  much  that  they  had  ceased  to 
pay  attention  to  him,  when  his  poor  deserted  wife  Bertha 
died  in  her  prison.  Many  angry  words  were  then  spoken, 
and  it  might  have  gone  ill  with  the  king  if  the  French  had 
not  had  something  else  to  think  of  at  that  time.  As  it 
was,  he  idled  his  life  in  feasting  and  hunting  with  his  fair 
Bertrade,  and  paid  not  the  least  attention  to  the  affairs  of 
the  kingdom,  when  one  day  he  was  seized  with  an  agoniz- 
ing disease.  The  doctors,  who  in  those  days  did  not 
know  much  about  disease,  pronounced  that  this  one  must 
be  mortal.  And  they  bade  the  poor  shuffling  king  prepare 
for  death. 

He  cowered  and  shivered,  and  finding  that  he  could  not 
be  cured,  he  bethought  himself  of  his  soul,  and  once  more 
sent  abject  letters  of  entreaty  to  the  pope  for  relief  from 
excommunication — for  he  had  been  excommunicated  again. 
Once  more  the  pope  revoked  his  decree,  on  the  condition 
that  Philip  should  do  penance.  The  king  promised,  and 
this  time  he  kept  his  word — perhaps  the  more  willingly 
because  the  pope  allowed  Bertrade  to  remain  with  him  to 
nurse  him.  As  he  grew  worse  he  laid  down  his  kingly 
power,  became  a  Benedictine  monk,  and  spent  his  days  in 
prayer  and  humiliation.  He  used  to  go  about  in  sackcloth 
and  ashes,  and  to  beg  people,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  to 
pray  for  him.  For  once  his  contrition  was  sincere.  As 
his  end  approached  he  gave  orders  that  his  body  be  not 
laid  beside  the  other  kings  of  France  ;  he  said  he  was  not 
worthy  to  rest  in  such  company — in  which  opinion  I  think 
you  will  agree  with  him. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  FIRST   CRUSADE 

A.D.  1094-1137 

IN  the  year  1094,  a  poor  French  priest,  named  Peter, 
who,  as  was  a  common  custom  in  those  days,  had  been 
on  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem,  returned  to  France  with  his 
heart  full  of  rage  and  grief  at  the  sufferings  which  pilgrims 
like  himself  had  to  endure.  The  Holy  Land  was  in  the  pos- 
session of  followers  of  Mohammed — Arabs  and  Turks,  who 
in  that  day  were  often  called  Moors  or  Moslems  or  Saracens. 
They  hated  Christianity,  and  when  they  found  that  Chris- 
tian pilgrims  made  long  journeys  to  pray  on  the  Saviour's 
tomb,  they  sometimes  required  them  to  spit  on  it  before 
they  would  allow  them  to  kneel.  If  the  pilgrims  carried 
anything  worth  stealing,  the  Moslems  stole  it ;  if  they  were 
empty-handed,  the  Moslems  often  killed  them.  That  such 
a  people  should  own  the  land  where  Christ  had  lived  and 
died  seemed  to  Father  Peter  and  to  other  devout  Chris- 
tians an  unbearable  outrage.  Peter  came  back  from  the 
Holy  Land  burning  with  zeal  to  wrest  Jerusalem  out  of 
the  hands  of  the  infidels. 

He  found  Pope  Urban  quite  of  his  mind.  A  great  meet- 
ing was  held  at  Clermont,  in  France,  at  which  four  hundred 
bishops  and  mitred  abbots,  as  many  feudal  lords,  and  thou- 
sands of  the  common  people  were  present.  Pope  and  pil- 
grim called  upon  everybody  to  enlist  in  the  war  for  the 
cross,  or,  as  it  was  then  called,  the  Crusade. 

The  idea  took  like  wildfire.  Almost  every  one  pinned 
on  his  right  shoulder  a  cross  of  red  or  white  stuff.  Feudal 
lords  sold  lands  and  jewels,  and  pledged  what  they  could 
not  sell  for  loans  of  money  to  outfit  themselves  and  their 


TO  [1094-1137 

vassals.  Common  people  gave  up  their  trade  and  their 
work  to  enlist  in  the  Crusading  army.  Nobody  thought  of 
anything  but  Jerusalem.  Men  left  their  homes  and  their 
wives  and  their  children  to  march  under  the  banner  of  some 
lighting  baron.  People  ran  through  the  streets  shouting, 
"  It  is  the  will  of  God  !  It  is  the  will  of  God  !" 

Very  few  people  knew  how  far  Jerusalem  was,  or  how 
they  were  to  get  there.  Nobody  knew  how  many  Turks 
or  Moslems  they  would  have  to  fight.  Hardly  any  one 
had  any  fixed  plan  as  to  how  they  were  to  get  home.  They 
were  simply  wild  to  drive  the  infidels  out  of  the  Holy  Land 
and  to  place  the  tomb  of  Christ  in  Christian  hands.  The 
wildness  was  so  general  that,  according  to  the  histories  of 
the  times,  nearly  nine  hundred  thousand  men  started  for 
the  Holy  Land.  I  think  myself  that  the  figure  is  large. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  all  through  the  summer  of  1096 
armies  set  out  for  Jerusalem.  One  of  these,  in  front  of 
which  Peter  the  Hermit  marched,  in  a  brown  woollen  gown 
with  a  cord  round  his  waist,  is  said  to  have  been  one  hun- 
dred thousand  strong  when  it  set  out,  but  by  the  time  it 
reached  Asia,  disease,  hunger,  hardship,  and  battle  had  so 
thinned  its  ranks  that  there  were  only  three  thousand  left. 

The  great  army,  which  was  led  by  Godfrey  of  Bouillon, 
started  in  August,  1096.  It  marched  into  Germany,  fol- 
lowed the  valley  of  the  Danube  to  the  country  which  was 
then  the  Empire  of  the  East,  made  some  stay  at  its  capital — 
Constantinople — crossed  the  Bosphorus,  worked  its  way 
south  through  Asia  Minor,  and  finally  appeared  before  Jeru- 
salem in  July,  1099,  having  been  nearly  three  years  on  the 
way.  Throughout  this  weary  journey  the  Crusaders  had 
fought  every  inch  of  their  way,  for  they  had  to  steal  the 
food  on  which  they  lived,  and  in  every  country  they  trav- 
ersed the  people  rose  up  in  arms.  To  get  victuals  they 
had  to  rob  town  and  country  ;  thus  every  man's  hand 
was  against  them,  and  when  they  reached  Constantinople 
their  own  was  literally  dripping  with  blood. 

Constantinople,  which  had  formerly  been  known  as  By- 


PETER  THE  HERMIT   PREACHING   A  CRUSADE 

zantium,  was  the  capital  of  the  Eastern  Empire.  It  was  the 
most  splendid  city  in  Europe,  perhaps  more  splendid  than 
Rome  had  ever  been.  It  was  full  of  fine  churches,  noble 
palaces,  marble  houses,  beautiful  statues,  and  gilded  domes. 
Rows  of  stores  displayed  rich  stuffs,  jewels,  and  arms,  such 
as  the  men  of  France  had  never  conceived.  To  these  jewels 
and  stuffs,  and  especially  to  the  arms,  the  Crusaders  be- 
gan to  help  themselves.  Some  robbed  the  palaces  and  the 
churches.  Many  thought  Constantinople  would  be  as  good 
a  stopping-place  as  Jerusalem.  But  the  Byzantines  were 
cunning  and  tricky. 

When  the  emperor,  whose  name  was  Alexius,  asked  God- 
frey what  he  wanted,  and  was  answered  that  he  wanted 
ships  and  boats  to  ferry  his  army  over  into  Asia,  a  fleet 
quite  large  enough  for  the  purpose  was  ready  next  day. 


72  [1094-1137 

And  when  the  Crusaders  lingered,  having  never  seen  so 
much  plunder  before  in  one  spot,  a  curious  disease  broke 
out  among  them,  and  they  began  to  die  in  prodigious  num- 
bers. It  is  said  that  the  wells  and  the  bread  had  been 
poisoned.  Then  the  survivors  embarked  for  Asia,  not 
however  till  they  had  killed  the  emperor's  pet  lion,  and 
taken  the  lead  from  the  roofs  of  the  churches  to  barter  for 
food  on  their  coming  journey. 

Down  south,  over  parched  plains,  sandy  wastes,  and  hills 
on  which  no  herb  grew,  with  clouds  of  Arab  horsemen 
circling  round  them,  and  cutting  off  every  one  who  strayed 
from  the  main  body,  the  Crusaders  marched,  their  number 
growing  less  day  by  day.  At  one  spot  five  hundred  men 
died  of  thirst.  At  another  a  squadron  of  Turkish  troopers 
swooped  down  on  a  tired  regiment  and  sabred  every  one. 
There  was  a  little  comfort  when  Antioch  was  reached — An- 
tioch,  the  gay  and  rich  city,  with  its  three  hundred  and 
sixty  churches  and  its  four  hundred  and  fifty  towers — but 
when  the  starving  Crusaders  found  themselves  once  more 
in  a  land  of  plenty  they  ate  so.  ravenously  that  disease 
again  broke  out  among  them,  and  the  generals  ordered  the 
march  to  go  on.  This  time  the  men  refused.  They  lay 
down  on  the  floors  of  houses  where  they  had  taken  shelter, 
and  the  houses  had  to  be  fired  to  get  them  out.  Then  a 
trooper  declared  that  by  digging  in  a  certain  spot  the  very 
lance  which  had  pierced  our  Saviour's  side  could  be  found, 
pointing  to  Jerusalem.  And  he  offered  to  make  good  his 
assertion  by  submitting  to  the  ordeal  of  fire.  He  did,  in 
fact,  enter  the  flames  and  was  duly  burned,  as  might  have 
been  expected.  But  the  lance  was  found  for  all  that,  and 
on  the  army  marched.  At  last,  when  patience  and  cour- 
age were  both  nearly  exhausted,  on  a  sultry  day  in  July, 
through  the  hot,  palpitating  air  of  the  desert,  over  a  plain 
where  a  few  tufts  of  grass  peered  through  clefts  in  the 
rocks,  the  flat  roofs  of  Jerusalem  were  seen. 

How  many  of  the  Crusaders  were  left  at  that  time  it  is 
hard  to  say.  One  account  says  sixty  thousand,  another 


ATTACKING   THE   SARACENS  IN   THEIR  MOSQUE 

only  twenty-five — in  either  case  a  small  remnant  of  those 
who  had  set  out  from  France  with  the  red-and-white  cross 
on  their  right  shoulders.  A  movable  tower  was  built  to 
overtop  the  walls  of  the  city,  and  when  it  was  nearly  fin- 
ished the  Crusaders  marched  round  the  walls,  barefoot  and 
waving  crosses.  This  they  kept  up  for  eight  days.  Then 
the  tower  was  run  up  to  the  city  gate,  the  Crusaders  poured 


74  [1094-1137 

out,  opened  the  gate,  Jerusalem  was  taken,  and  every  liv- 
ing creature  in  the  place  was  killed.  At  last  the  Crusad- 
ers declared  that  their  work  was  accomplished.  They  left 
Godfrey  of  Bouillon  with  three  hundred  knights  to  rule  the 
conquered  city  and  returned  home. 

Many  of  them  died  by  the  way.  Those  who  lived  to  see 
their  homes  again  found  France  much  changed.  The  king 
was  called  Louis  the  Fat.  He  may  have  been  fat,  but  he 
was  wise  and  wary  as  well. 

At  the  time  he  came  to  the  throne  the  feudal  lords  had 
become  so  overbearing  that,  except  in  a  few  cities,  the  king 
was  only  king  in  name.  They  led  expeditions  to  pillage 
their  neighbors.  They  built  towers  by  the  road-side  and 
would  let  no  one  pass  till  he  paid  toll.  No  man's  house, 
nor  his  purse,  nor  his  daughter,  was  safe  from  them.  And 
the  king  was  helpless.  But  when  most  of  these  lords  had 
gone  off  to  the  Crusade  at  the  head  of  their  marauding  vas- 
sals, the  king  took  advantage  of  their  absence  to  pull  down 
some  of  their  towers,  to  put  his  own  men  into  some  of 
their  castles,  and  to  punish  very  thoroughly  the  robbers 
and  murderers  without  asking  leave  of  their  lords. 

There  was  one  impudent  baron  named  Montlery,  who 
had  built  a  castle  on  the  Orleans  Road  and  took  toll  from 
passers-by.  He  went  to  the  Crusade,  and  while  he  was 
away  the  kiug  tore  his  castle  down.  There  was  a  Count 
of  Anjou  who  was  constantly  making  war  against  his  neigh- 
bors on  his  own  account.  He  was  a  vain  man,  and  once 
a&kted'the  king  if  he  might  have  the  sole  right  of  laying 
the  royal  dinner-table  ? 

Louis  the  Fat  replied :  Yes,  he  might  lay  the  dishes  on 
the  table  and  no  one  else  should. 

Whereupon  the  Count  of  Anjou  became  a  good  friend 
to  the  king  and  undertook  no  more  private  wars. 

In  this  way  Louis  the  Fat  so  managed  matters  that  he 
was  able  to  go  from  Paris  to  Orleans  or  Rheims  without 
having  an  army  at  his  back,  and  it  was  actually  said  that 
a  merchant  could  cross  the  forest  of  Montworency  without 


1094-1137]  77 

having  a  man-at-arms  in  front  of  him  with  lance  in  rest. 
Strange  times,  when  such  signs  of  order  were  thought  won- 
derful proof's  of  progress. 

The  last  years  of  Louis  the  Fat  were  unhappy.  His 
heart  was  wrapped  up  in  his  son  Philip,  who  was  to  succeed 
him,  but  one  day,  as  the  youth  rode  through  the  streets  of 
Paris,  a  pig  got  between  his  horse's  feet,  the  animal  threw 
him  heavily  to  the  ground,  and  he  died  that  night.  His 
father  almost  went  mad  with  grief.  His  second  son,  Louis, 
was  consecrated  as  his  heir ;  the  sacred  oil  was  poured  on 
his  head  by  the  pope  himself  ;  but  the  father  never  ceased 
to  mourn  his  eldest  born,  and  was  a  sad  man  to  the  day  of 
his  death. 

He  died  in  1137,  after  a  reign  of  twenty -nine  years. 
You  will  remember  him  as  one  of  the  good  kings  of  France. 
There  was  more  rest  and  safety  among  the  poor  peasantry 
under  his  reign  than  there  had  been  for  many  years  before  ; 
he  taught  the  feudal  barons  that  there  was  a  power  greater 
than  theirs,  and  that  laws  were  made  for  the  strong  as  well 
as  for  the  weak.  He  owed  much  throughout  his  life  to  the 
counsels  of  a  good  and  wise  priest  named  the  Abbot  Suger. 

This  abbot  built  a  splendid  monastery  at  St.  Denis  and 
lived  in  it,  occupying  one  room  fifteen  feet  long  by  ten 
wide  ;  he  slept  on  a  bed  of  straw,  covered  with  a  single 
woollen  counterpane.  In  that  room  he  governed  France, 
in  the  king's  name,  for  years  ;  he  was  never  guilty  of  in- 
justice to  any  man,  nor  did  he  ever  excuse  wrong  or  fear 
earthly  power.  Ah  !  if  there  had  been  in  those  days  more 
abbots  like  him ! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  TALE  OF  TWO  FAIR  WOMEN 

A.D.  1137-1180 

Louis  THE  SEVENTH,  who  is  called  in  French  history 
Louis  the  Young,  was  eighteen  when  he  became  king.  He 
had  been  educated  by  the  good  Abbot  Suger,  who,  you  may 
be  sure,  taught  him  nothing  but  what  a  king  should  know. 
But  he  had  the  ill-fortune  to  marry  the  wrong  woman,  and 
she  proved  his  evil  genius. 

This  woman  was  Eleanor  of  Aquitaine,  a  beautiful,  witty, 
spoiled  child  of  the  South.  From  her  childhood  she  had 
been  petted  and  flattered  ;  poets  had  written  sonnets  about 
her ;  gay  gallants  had  ridden  by  her  side,  telling  her  that 
she  was  the  most  bewitching  and  delightful  and  ravishing 
creature  the  world  had  ever  seen.  She  grew  up  believing 
this  flattery,  as  I  believe  girls  sometimes  do  even  in  our 
time  ;  and  she  became  an  imperious,  self-willed  young  lady, 
so  fond  of  pleasure  and  music  and  merriment  that  she 
thought  of  nothing  else.  When  she  married  the  heir  to 
the  crown  of  France,  who  was  only  eighteen,  she  felt  that 
she  was  going  to  lead  a  joyous  life  ;  and  she  quite  declined 
to  take  advice  from  good  Abbot  Suger,  who  was  a  serious 
man,  and  did  not  like  frivolities. 

Not  long  after  her  marriage  she  got  Louis  into  trouble. 
The  pope  appointed  an  archbishop  of  Bourges  in  Aquitaine. 
Eleanor  said  that  Bourges  was  her  city,  and  that  the  pope 
had  no  right  to  give  its  ai'chbishopric  away.  She  ordered 
that  a  new  archbishop  should  be  chosen,  and  her  hus- 
band said  she  was  quite  right.  Then  the  pope  excommuni- 
cated Louis. 

Just  before  that   he  had  excommunicated   a   sister  of 


A  MINSTREL  SINGING  TO  THE  COURT  OF  ELEANOR  OP  AQUITAINE 

Eleanor's  for  marrying  a  man  who  had  a  wife  already. 
To  avenge  her  sister,  Eleanor  persuaded  Louis  to  invade 
Champagne,  which  was  full  of  the  pope's  friends,  and  in 
the  course  of  the  march  the  king's  troops  set  fire  to  the 
town  of  Vitry.  A  large  number  of  the  people  of  Vitry — 
about  thirteen  hundred,  men,  women,  and  children — took 
refuge  in  the  cathedral.  The  flames  reached  the  building, 
and,  the  doors  having  got  jammed,  every  one  of  the  thirteen 
hundred  was  burned  to  death.  The  king,  who  rode  up  as 
the  churcli  was  burning,  heard  their  dying  shrieks  and 


80  [1137-1180 

groans.  He  was  not  a  bad  young  man.  He  was  filled 
with  horror  at  the  wrong  he  had  done.  He  begged  pardon 
of  God  and  the  pope  and  offered  to  perform  any  penance 
that  might  be  set  him. 

Just  then  came  news  from  the  Holy  Land  that  the 
Saracens  had  gathered  a  great  force  and  marched  upon 
the  city  of  Edessa,  where  many  Christians  lived,  and  had 
massacred  every  one.  The  pope  declared  that  the  time 
had  come  for  a  new  Crusade — as  though  the  result  of  the 
last  one  had  been  so  satisfactory.  Louis  was  not  in  favor 
of  it,  and  the  Abbot  Suger  was  quite  opposed  to  the 
scheme.  He  told  the  king  that  his  first  duty  was  to  his 
own  people.  But  Eleanor  was  frantic  to  lead  a  Crusade, 
and  everybody  gave  way  to  her  imperious  will. 

On  Easter  Day  another  great  national  council  was  held, 
this  time  on  the  slope  of  a  hill  overlooking  the  town  of 
Vezelai  in  Burgundy.  Scores  of  counts,  and  barons,  and 
bishops,  and  abbots,  all  with  their  men-at-arms  by  their  sides, 
their  banners  waving  in  the  air,  and  thousands  of  the 
common  people  gathered  on  the  hill,  while  above  them, 
on  a  raised  platform,  sat  the  king  and  the  proud  and 
beautiful  Queen  Eleanor,  and  beside  them  a  thin,  pale-faced 
monk  with  burning  eyes.  When  all  were  silent,  this  pale 
monk — his  name  was  Bernard — rose  and  poured  out  a 
torrent  of  fiery  words  about  the  shame  and  disgrace  of 
allowing  the  Holy  Land  to  remain  in  the  hands  of  infidels. 
As  had  happened  just  fifty  years  before,  the  people  went 
mad  over  his  words.  Cries  of  "  Crosses  !"  "  Crosses  !"  rose 
on  all  sides.  Queen  Eleanor  seized  Bernard's  hand,  kissed 
it  before  all  the  people,  and  pinned  a  cross  on  her  own 
right  shoulder.  The  king  followed  her  example,  and  the 
priests  and  monks  tore  up  red  and  white  stuff  they  had 
brought,  and  their  very  garments,  to  supply  the  people 
with  Crusaders'  badges. 

It  was  the  same  old  sickening  story  over  again.  The 
Crusaders — or  as  many  as  survived  of  the  hundred  thousand 
who  set  Ottt— found  their  way  into  Asia,  but  there  the  Sara,* 


CRUSADERS  FORDING   A   RIVER 

cens  fell  upon  them  and  defeated  them  over  and  over  again. 
By  paying  money  out  of  his  own  pocket,  Louis  got  some 
help  from  the  Emperor  of  the  East ;  but  the  tricky  Greek 
betrayed  him  to  the  Turks,  who  fell  upon  the  remnant 
of  his  army  as  they  were  sleeping.  The  slaughter  that 
ensued  was  so  frightful  that  the  Turks  in  pity  stayed  their 
hand  at  last,  and  nursed  the  wounded,  while  the  Greeks 
sent  their  prisoners  to  Constantinople  to  be  sold  as  slaves. 
Of  the  whole  army,  only  Louis,  Eleanor,  the  Emperor 
Conrad,  and  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  knights  reached 
Jerusalem.  Louis  hastened  home,  for  at  An'tioch  he  learn- 
ed that  he  had  lost  the  love  of  his  faithless  wife. 

As  soon  as  he  reached  Paris  the  king  told  the  Abbot 
6 


82  [1137-1180 

Suger  that  he  could  live  with  his  wife  no  more.  The  wise 
and  good  priest  tried  to  dissuade  him,  saying  that  it  was 
his  duty  to  forgive  a  weak  woman  ;  but  when  the  abbot 
visited  the  weak  woman  he  did  not  find  her  quite  as  weak 
as  he  had  expected. 

"  I  have  married  a  monk,"  she  said,  "  not  a  king.  I  will 
live  with  him  no  more." 

After  this,  of  course,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but 
to  arrange  the  divorce. 

You  will  like  to  hear  what  became  of  this  proud  and 
wicked  woman.  When  she  was  divorced  from  Louis  she 
took  back  the  duchy  of  Aquitaine  which  she  had  brought 
him  in  marriage,  and  at  the  age  of  thirty  she  married 
Henry  Plantagenet,  who  afterward  became  King  of  Eng- 
land, and  brought  him  a  dowry  which,  with  his  own  duke- 
dom of  Normandy,  made  him  ruler  of  two  thirds  of  France. 
But  she  could  live  at  peace  with  no  husband.  She  quarrel- 
led with  Henry  and  incited  his  sons  to  rebel  against  him, 
whereupon  he  seized  her  and  locked  her  up  in  prison  for 
sixteen  years.  She  lived  to  see  two  of  her  sons — Richard 
and  John — crowned  kings  of  England,  and  died  at  the  age 
of  eighty-one. 

There  lived  at  this  period  in  France  another  lady  whose 
life  was  very  different  from  hers,  and  who  I  think  will  be 
remembered  when  Eleanor,  with  all  her  beauty  and  all  her 
pride,  has  been  quite  forgotten.  This  was  Ilelo'ise.  She 
was  the  niece  of  a  canon  named  Fulbert,  and  was  young, 
lovely,  and  gifted.  Few  of  the  learned  men  of  the  day 
knew  as  much  as  this  young  girl.  She  fell  in  love  with 
her  teacher  Abelard,  who,  I  think,  was  unworthy  of  such 
a  love,  though  he  was  famous  and  much  thought  of  every- 
where. But  he  had  no  more  heart  than  a  brickbat,  while 
Heloise  overflowed  with  love  and  tenderness  and  pas- 
sionate affection.  They  ran  away.  He  became  a  Bene- 
dictine monk,  and  she,  by  his  orders,  became  the  abbess  of 
a  convent,  where  she  taught  religion,  Greek,  Latin,  and 
Hebrew.  He  spent  his  life  in  arguing  questions  with  the 


1137-1180]  83 

other  monks  of  the  day,  and  was  quite  often  locked  up  in 
jail  for  knowing  more  than  other  people — which  I  believe 
has  happened  since  then.  She  was  appointed  by  the  pope 
the  head  of  an  order  of  nuns,  and  spent  her  life  in  doing 
good,  teaching  the  ignorant,  tending  the  sick,  and  always 
thinking  of  the  one  undying  love  of  her  young  heart. 
When  you  go  to  Paris  you  will  see  in  the  eastern  ceme- 
tery a  monument  which  covers  the  remains  of  Heloise  and 
Abelard  ;  many  years  ago  their  bones  were  dug  from  the 
graves  where  they  had  been  laid  side  by  side,  and  were 
brought  to  Paris,  so  that  these  two  who  were  parted  in 
life  might  at  last  be  united  in  death. 

After  his  divorce  from  Eleanor,  King  Louis  married 
again  ;  and  his  wife  dying,  he  took  a  third,  who  became 
the  mother  of  the  son  I  shall  speak  of  in  the  next  chap- 
ter. When  the  boy  was  fifteen  years  old,  his  father  had 
a  stroke  of  paralysis,  and  the  doctors  warned  him  to  pre« 
pare  for  death. 

You  will  form  an  idea  of  the  manners  and  customs  of 
that  day  from  King  Louis's  preparations  for  his  death. 
The  usage  was  that  whenever  the  king  came  to  Paris  after 
a  journey  or  residence  elsewhere,  his  servants  could  enter 
any  house  in  the  city  and  lay  hands  upon  such  articles  of 
clothing  and  such  living  utensils  as  he  might  want.  It 
was  taken  for  granted  that  the  good  citizens  of  Paris 
would  be  only  too  glad  to  let  their  king  have  a  pair  of 
trousers  or  a  hair-brush,  or  a  kettle,  or  a  pair  of  boots — if 
he  needed  such  things.  In  this  way  the  king's  rooms 
were  generally  pretty  well  furnished  and  supplied.  King 
Louis  now  ordered  all  his  boxes  to  be  emptied,  his  drawers 
ransacked,  and  their  contents  laid  upon  a  table.  He  put 
his  money  in  one  heap,  his  jewels  in  another,  and  his 
clothes  in  a  third.  Then  he  summoned  all  the  poor  people 
who  lived  near  the  palace  and  divided  his  belongings 
among  them,  so  that  every  one  got  something,  and  at  the 
close  of  the  day  the  king  had  nothing  left  but  the  clothes 
he  wore.  Then  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  died. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PHILIP  AUGUSTUS 
A.D.   1180-1223 

AFTEK  Louis's  death  another  boy  prince — Philip  Au- 
gustus— succeeded  to  the  throne.  He  reigned  forty-three 
years,  and  he  managed,  by  successful  wars,  by  the  aid  of 
the  Church,  and  by  cunning  politics,  to  take  from  the  King 
of  England  and  from  the  French  feudal  lords  so  much  of 
the  territory  they  held  in  France  that  he  was  able  to 
leave  a  considerable  kingdom  to  his  heir.  Personally, 
however,  he  does  not  cut  a  very  large  figure  in  the  his- 
tory of  his  reign. 

He  began  badly.  There  was  a  hermit  who  lived  in  a 
cell  in  the  woods  near  Paris,  and  who  was  supposed  to  be 
a  very  holy  man.  Whether  he  was  holy  or  not,  he  was  a 
cruel  and  bigoted  fanatic  ;  for  he  persuaded  the  king  that 
it  would  be  agreeable  in  the  eyes  of  the  Lord  to  expel  the 
Jews  from  France.  A  decree  to  that  effect  was  issued 
and  executed  ;  the  poor  Jews,  with  their  wives  and  chil- 
dren, were  torn  from  their  homes  and  driven  out  of  the 
king's  dominions.  People  who  owed  them  money  were  re- 
leased from  paying,  on  condition  that  they  handed  over  to 
the  king  one  fifth  of  what  they  owed. 

This  inhuman  edict  had  no  sooner  been  carried  out  than 
news  came  that  Saladin,  the  chief  of  the  Saracens,  had 
retaken  Jerusalem,  and  was  meting  out  to  the  Christians 
the  measure  they  had  meted  to  the  Jews.  Nothing  would 
serve  but  another  Crusade.  But  this  was  to  be  the  greatest 
of  all  Crusades.  Three  monarchs — King  Richard  of  Eng- 
land, King  Philip  of  France,  and  the  Emperor  of  Ger- 
many, whose  name  was  Redbeard —  took  the  lead  ;  an.4 


1180-1223] 


85 


with  them  were  dukes,  counts,  barons,  knights,  arch- 
bishops, bishops,  and  men-at-arms  from  Italy,  Belgium, 
Denmark,  as  well  as  England,  France,  and  Germany — to 
the  number,  it  is  said,  of  six  hundred  thousand,  all  trained 
soldiers.  Most  of  them  went  in  sailing  craft  by  way  of 
the  Mediterranean.  They  stopped  for  a  while  at  Sicily, 
where  Richard  of  England — who  was  always  quarrelling 
with  some  one — fell  out  with  Philip  of  France,  and  nearly 
put  an  end  to  the  expedition  ;  but  the  dispute  was  finally 
settled,  the  great  fleet  made  a  landing  on  the  coast  of 
Palestine  near  Acre,  and  proceeded  to  besiege  the  place. 


FIGHTING    Till!;    SAUACIiNS 


The  siege  was  long  and  bloody.  The  Crusaders  built 
towers  which  they  ran  up  to  the  walls,  and  from  which  men- 
at-arms  poured  burning  arrows,  fire-balls  made  of  sulphur 
and  pitch,  and  gi'eat  stones  upon  the  garrison  ;  and,  in 
return,  the  Turks  kept  up  an  incessant  fire  of  darts  and 
arrows  upon  the  assailants.  At  one  fight  so  many  arrows 
hit  King  Richard  that  his  body  was  said  to  be  like  a  pin.- 


86  [1180-1223 

cushion  stuck  full  of  needles.  But  at  last  the  place  was 
taken,  and  Saladin  refusing  to  make  satisfactory  arrange- 
ments about  the  prisoners  the  English  had  taken,  their 
throats  were  all  cut  in  his  presence. 

This  Saladin,  the  chief  and  general  of  the  Saracens,  is 
one  of  the  few  figures  in  the  story  of  the  Crusades  whom 
you  can  remember  with  pleasure.  He  was  a  brave  soldier 
who  led  his  troopers  to  battle  intrepidly,  and  when  the 
battle  was  over  he  was  merciful  and  generous  to  his  fallen 
foes.  lie  sent  fruits  and  cooling  drinks  to  the  fevered 
Crusaders,  and  rather  than  have  his  prisoners  taken  to  Con> 
stantinople,to  be  sold  as  slaves,  he  and  his  brother  ransomed 
them  with  their  own  money  and  set  them  free.  It  seems 
to  me  that  this  Moslem's  soul  was  imbued  with  a  more 
Christian  spirit  than  that  of  many  of  his  Christian  foes. 

Acre  captured,  Richard,  who  could  not  remain  quiet, 
quarrelled  wTith  his  allies.  King  Philip,  who  had  slept  in 
the  same  bed  with  him,  eaten  from  the  same  plate,  and 
drunk  from  the  same  cup,  accused  him  of  having  tried  to 
poison  him,  took  ship,  and  went  home.  The  Duke  of 
Austria  had  raised  his  banner  on  a  corner  of  the  wall  ; 
Richard  tore  it  down,  and  threw  it  into  the  ditch  ;  where- 
upon he  broke  camp  and  departed.  Richard  so  grossly 
insulted  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  that  he  also  withdrew  his 
forces,  and  left  the  King  of  England  to  go  on  with  the 
Crusade.  You  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  this  brawl- 
ing king  gave  up  the  game  himself  at  last,  tried  to  find 
his  way  home  in  disguise,  but  was  betrayed  by  his  wearing 
court  gloves,  and  was  thrown  into  jail  by  the  very  duke 
whose  banner  he  had  flung  into  the  ditch. 

But  though  the  Crusades  did  not  place  Jerusalem  in 
Christian  hands,  they  accustomed  the  people  of  that  day 
to  the  idea  of  fighting  for  religion.  You  know  that  you 
cannot  change  men's  religious  faith  by  making  war  upon 
them;  our  Saviour  never  told  his  disciples  to  make  war  on 
those  who  differed  from  them — his  religion  was  a  religion 
of  peace.  But  seven  centuries  ago  a  notion  prevailed  that 


1180-1223]  87 

it  was  right  and  proper  to  stab,  and  rob,  and  wound,  and 
kill  people  because  they  held  religious  opinions  which  did 
not  agree  with  those  of  the  stabbers  and  the  robbers  and 
the  killers.  This  was  the  reason  why  the  Pope  of  Rome, 
having  failed  to  wipe  the  followers  of  Mohammed  off 
the  face  of  the  earth,  began  to  look  nearer  home  for  a 
people  which  had  religious  opinions  to  which  he  objected. 
And  he  found  such  a  people  in  beautiful,  sunny,  smiling 
Languedoc. 

They  were  the  brightest  people  in  France.  They  had 
ideas  of  their  own  and  plenty  of  them.  And  one  of  those 
ideas  was  that  they  were  quite  as  well  able  to  think  for 
themselves  on  religion  as  the  pope  was  to  think  for  them. 
They  had  always  raged  at  the  power  which  the  pope  held 
in  France.  They  called  themselves  Albigenses  and  said 
they  wei'e  independent  of  Rome.  At  this  particular  mo- 
ment their  wrath  was  kindled  by  a  new  attempt  of  the 
pope  to  plunge  the  French  people  into  misery  because  the 
king  would  not  obey  him. 

Philip  had  married  a  princess  of  Denmark.  From  the 
first  hour  he  saw  her  he  hated  her,  and  shortly  after  the 
marriage  he  divorced  her  and  married  a  lovely  girl  from 
Tyrol,  named  Agnes  of  Meranie.  The  pope  ordered  him 
to  put  away  Agnes  and  to  take  back  the  Dane  under 
penalty  of  an  interdict.  He  refused.  After  waiting  three 
years  the  pope's  legate  or  messenger  summoned  a  council 
of  bishops  to  meet  in  the  cathedral  at  Dijon  ;  they  dis- 
cussed the  matter  for  a  week,  and  on  the  seventh  day,  at 
midnight,  an  interdict  was  laid  upon  the  kingdom.  Each 
priest  held  a  burning  torch  to  light  up  the  gloom  of  the 
church,  and  all  chanted  the  prayers  for  the  dead.  Black 
crape  was  laid  on  the  altar,  the  holy  relics  were  laid  away 
in  tombs,  and  at  a  signal  the  torches  were  dashed  to  the 
ground,  the  cathedral  was  wrapped  in  gloom,  and  the  whole 
of  France  was  laid  under  a  curse.  For  eight  months  there 
were  no  church  services,  no  baptisms,  no  marriages,  no 
burial  services  in  France.  Then  the  king  yielded. 


88  [1180-1223 

But  the  people  of  Languedoc  were  not  in  a  yielding 
mood.  They  declared  that  so  domineering  a  Church  was 
not  for  them.  The  Christianity  which  they  proposed  to 
ullow  must  be  of  a  gentler  type.  And  numbers  of  them, 
under  the  lead  of  the  gallant  Raymond,  Count  of  Tou- 
louse, began  to  say  openly  that  they  had  no  orders  to  take 
from  the  pope.  A  messenger,  whom  the  pope  sent  to  re- 
buke Raymond,  and  who  was  haughty  and  insolent,  was 
followed  to  the  Rhone  by  an  Albigensian  and  stabbed  to 
death  ;  but  Raymond's  heart  misgave  him  after  this — he 
did  penance  and  was  openly  scourged  by  the  priests  in 
the  church. 

His  people  were  of  sterner  stuff.  They  shut  themselves 
up  in  the  town  of  Beziers  and  prepared  for  battle.  The 
fighting  men  of  the  Church  came  on  in  overwhelming  num- 
bers under  the  lead  of  Simon  of  Montfort,  an  old  Crusader 
and  a  bitter  fighter,  and  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux.  The  pope 
had  offered  every  volunteer  who  joined  the  army  full  par- 
don for  his  sins,  and  it  appeared  that  there  were  a  good 
many  sinners  just  then.  The  town  was  soon  taken.  When 
the  soldiers  asked  how  they  should  distinguish  rebels  from 
churchmen  among  the  citizens,  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux 
solved  the  difficulty  very  simply.  "  Kill  them  all,"  said 
this  gentle  priest ;  "the  Lord  will  know  his  own." 

In  the  great  church  of  St.  Nazaire  some  priest  set  the 
bell  tolling  when  the  soldiers  broke  in  ;  it  never  stopped 
tolling  till  there  was  not  a  living  creature  in  the  place  out- 
side of  the  attacking  army.  The  Abbot  of  Citeaux  wrote 
to  the  pope  that  he  had  done  his  best,  but  he  was  afraid 
he  had  not  killed  over  twenty  thousand.  The  town  was 
thea  fired  and  burned  to  the  ground  ;  you  can  see  part 
of  the  ruins  to  this  day. 

Other  places  shared  the  fate  of  Beziers.  Ten  thousand 
persons  were  executed  at  Toulouse.  Simon  of  Montfort 
and  the  equally  savage  Abbot  of  Citeaux  rode  over  the 
lovely  plains  of  Languedoc,  slaying,  burning,  ravaging, 
and  giving  up  pleasant  towns  to  be  sacked  by  their  ruf- 


1180-1223]  89 

fianly  camp-followers.  One  castle  which  held  out  for  a 
while  was  taken,  it  is  said,  by  the  help  of  a  machine  of 
war  invented  by  the  Archdeacon  of  Paris,  of  all  people 
in  the  world.  When  the  work  was  done,  Languedoc  was 
a  desert  waste.  Simon  of  Montfort  continued  for  several 
years  to  hunt  down  scattered  fugitives,  until  one  day,  when 
he  was  riding  past  the  walls  of  Toulouse,  a  heavy  stone 
flung  from  the  ramparts  by  a  woman  struck  him  on  the 
head  and  dashed  his  brains  out. 

Philip  had  taken  no  very  active  part  in  the  persecution 
of  the  Southern  people.  He  had  business  of  his  own  in 
the  North.  He  wrested  Normandy  out  of  the  hands  of 
the  English  and  fought  a  battle  with  the  German  em- 
peror, in  which  the  latter  was  badly  beaten.  He  got  Flan- 
ders too,  and  part  of  the  country  we  call  Belgium.  Judged 
by  the  rules  of  that  day,  which  measured  kings  by  the 
extent  of  their  dominions,  no  matter  how  the  dominions 
were  acquired  or  governed,  he  was  a  great  monarch.  Per- 
haps one  of  the  most  creditable  works  he  did  during  his 
reign  was  to  pave  the  city  of  Paris. 


ClIAPTEK     XV 

FRANCE   SIX   HUNDRED   AND   SEVENTY  YEARS   AGO 
A.D.   1223-1226 

THE  successor  of  Philip  Augustus  was  a  young  man  to 
whom  people  gave  the  name  of  Louis  the  Lion,  though  in 
his  brief  three  years'  reign  he  was  as  unlike  a  lion  as  any- 
thing you  can  imagine.  He  had  a  fine  coronation.  Long 
tables  were  set  in  the  streets  of  Paris  and  laden  with  food 
for  the  poor  to  eat ;  minstrels  sang  songs  all  day  in  honor 
of  the  lion  king ;  and  everybody  who  could  afford  it  illu- 
minated his  house.  Louis  fought  the  English  for  a  year 
or  two,  as  the  custom  was  ;  then  he  turned  on  the  people 
of  Languedoc,  and  was  going  to  fight  them  too,  but  a  fever 
broke  out  in  his  army  and  carried  off  twenty  thousand 
men,  the  king  among  the  number. 

You  would  take  less  interest  in  the  doings  of  this  not 
very  famous  king  than  in  the  story  of  Jeanne  of  Flanders. 
Jeanne  was  the  daughter  of  Baldwin,  who  in  1204  became 
Emperor  of  the  East,  when  Constantinople  was  taken  by  an 
army  of  Venetians  and  Crusaders  combined.  He  had  barely 
got  settled  on  his  throne  when  he  was  obliged  to  march  out 
to  fight  the  Bulgarians  and  was  taken  prisoner.  Word  came 
to  his  daughter  Jeanne,  who  was  reigning  in  his  stead  in 
Flanders,  that  he  was  in  prison  in  Bulgaria,  and  would  his 
dear  good  daughter  send  money  to  ransom  her  father  ? 

Jeanne  replied  that  she  had  no  money  for  any  such  pur- 
pose. 

Nearly  twenty  years  afterward  an  old  man,  bowed, 
gray,  and  wrinkled,  appeared  before  Jeanne,  and  said  that 
he  was  her  father,  and  that  Ue  had  escaped  from  his  prison, 
in  Bulgaria, 


1223-1226]  91 

Jeanne  replied  that  she  did  not  believe  him,  and  that  he 
was  an  impostor.  She  referred  to  King  Louis  of  France, 
and  he  too,  being  a  very  close  friend  to  Jeanne,  doubted 
the  old  man.  The  pope  sent  a  legate  to  look  into  the  case, 
and  he  also,  after  some  consultation  with  Jeanne,  declared 
that  he  was  unable  to  make  up  his  mind.  While  they 
were  debating,  Jeanne  got  the  old  man  into  her  hands, 
imprisoned  him,  tortured  him  cruelly,  and  put  him  to  death. 

The  Flemish  people  were  indignant,  and  accused  Jeanne 
of  being  the  murderess  of  her  father.  She  answered  them 
that  Count  Baldwin  had  died  in  his  prison  in  Bulgaria,  and 
she  offered  to  prove  it.  She  did,  in  effect,  send  a  trusty 
officer  of  hers  to  that  distant  principality  on  the  Danube, 
and  he  returned,  saying  that  Baldwin  had  really  died  there, 
as  Jeanne  had  said  ;  that  he  had  seen  his  grave,  and  he 
knew  it  was  the  count's,  because  a  miraculous  flame  played 
round  it — which  ended  the  matter,  and  Jeanne  reigned 
over  Flanders  in  peace. 

Perhaps  it  may  help  you  to  understand  this  child's  his- 
tory of  France  if  you  know  something  of  the  way  in 
which  the  French  lived  at  this  time  —  six  hundred  and 
seventy  years  ago,  about  two  hundred  and  seventy  years 
before  Columbus  discovered  America,  and  nearly  four 
hundred  years  before  the  Puritans  landed  on  Plymouth 
Rock. 

The  country  parts  of  France  were  fertile,  as  they  are 
now,  and  grew  wheat,  barley,  rye,  vines,  fruit,  vegetables — 
but  not  potatoes — and  hay  for  cattle  ;  in  the  south  corn 
was  raised,  and  on  the  hill-sides  and  in  the  meadows  near 
by  cattle  were  pastured  —  horned  beasts,  horses,  mules, 
asses,  sheep,  goats,  and  pigs.  If  you  had  lived  in  those 
days  you  might  have  seen  in  the  farm-yards  the  same 
poultry  as  we  have  now,  except  turkeys,  and  the  woods 
were  full  of  deer,  wild  boars,  and  many  kind  of  birds  that 
were  good  eating.  The  streams  and  ponds  were  full  of 
fish. 

There  were  a  number  of  towns,  but  they  were  small. 


92  [1223-1226 

The  only  fine  buildings  in  them  were  the  churches,  monas- 
teries, convents,  and  abbeys  ;  the  houses  of  the  people 
were  built  of  sun-dried  brick  or  wood  and  thatched  with 
straw  ;  they  were  set  endwise  to  the  street  ;  the  win- 
dow-panes were  small  ;  except  in  Paris  the  streets  were 
not  paved,  and  there  were  no  sidewalks  anywhere.  A  few 
old  Roman  roads  from  city  to  city  were  still  in  order  ;  but 
few  of  the  other  roads  were  mended,  and  in  rainy  weather 
they  were  full  of  ruts  and  mud.  There  were  no  public 
vehicles  to  carry  people  or  goods  from  place  to  place. 
Travellers  went  on  foot  or  on  horseback  or  in  carts  with- 
out springs  ;  merchants  carried  their  wares  in  packs  on 
the  backs  of  mules.  There  were  no  hotels  or  lodging- 
houses  for  travellers.  When  people  went  on  a  journey, 
they  slept  and  got  their  meals  at  a  feudal  lord's  castle  or 
at  a  monastery.  The  monks  lodged  and  fed  all  comers  ; 
the  guests  paid  if  they  could  ;  if  they  had  no  money  they 
did  some  work  for  the  monastery.  Rooms  were  warmed 
with  wood  burned  in  open  hearths,  or  with  hot  embers  in 
braziers  which  could  be  carried  from  room  to  room.  There 
was  no  coal  yet. 

In  the  castles  of  the  feudal  lords  a  long  dining-table  was 
set  for  twelve-o'clock  dinner.  The  lord  and  the  lady  sat 
at  the  head  in  their  best  clothes,  and  their  children,  rela- 
tions, and  guests  lower  down  the  table  ;  then  came  a  huge 
salt-cellar,  and  below  the  salt-cellar  sat  the  servants  and 
travellers  who  had  come  in  for  a  meal.  There  was  no  car- 
pet on  the  floor.  Even  in  the  king's  palace  floors  were 
strewed  with  rushes,  and  at  meals  bones  were  picked  clean 
and  thrown  on  the  floor.  People  ate  with  their  knives — 
there  were  no  table  forks.  Boys  who  were  called  pages 
went  round  from  guest  to  guest  with  tall  tankards  of  silver 
or  pewter,  full  of  wine  or  beer.  There  was  no  tea  nor  cof- 
fee nor  sugar  in  those  days  ;  drinks  were  sweetened  with 
honey. 

The  lord  and  his  lady  slept  in  a  chamber  of  state,  in  a 
huge  bedstead,  on  a  mattress  of  wool  or  straw  or  feathers  ; 


1223-1226]  93 

counterpanes,  often  richly  embroidered,  were  their  cover- 
ing ;  they  used  no  sheets.  The  ladies  of  the  family  had 
rooms  by  themselves,  and  one  or  two  men-at-arms  slept 
outside  their  doors.  The  servants  and  guests  slept  as  often 
on  the  floor  as  elsewhere.  Among  the  people,  houses  were 
generally  divided  into  an  attic,  where  the  whole  family 
slept,  and  a  downstairs  room,  where  meals  were  cooked 
and  eaten,  and  the  man  of  the  house  carried  on  his  business. 

All  classes  wore  woollen  cloth.  Cotton  cloth  was  in  use 
in  the  Eastern  Empire,  and  fabrics  of  silk  were  worn  there 
and  in  Italy  and  Spain  ;  but  both  were  very  scarce  and 
dear  in  France.  The  coats  of  the  common  people  were 
often  made  of  leather.  No  one  wore  stockings — not  even 
the  ladies.  When  the  knights  and  feudal  lords  went  into 
battle  they  thrust  their  bare  feet  into  their  boots  and  cov- 
ered their  body  and  legs  with  coats  of  mail  or  iron,  which 
were  sometimes  so  heavy  that  when  the  wearer  of  one  of 
them  was  knocked  down  he  could  not  get  up  again  with- 
out help.  Lords  and  men-at-arms  wore  on  their  heads  hel- 
mets made  wholly  or  partly  of  iron.  The  common  people 
wore  woollen  hoods  called  chaperons. 

Printing  was  not  invented  till  over  two  hundred  years 
after  this  time.  There  were  thus  no  books,  but  in  the 
monasteries  and  convents  copies  of  the  Bible,  of  the  writ- 
ings of  the  saints,  and  of  a  few  Latin  and  Greek  authors, 
written  by  hand  on  parchment  and  often  richly  decorated, 
were  carefully  preserved.  Hardly  any  one  knew  how  to 
read  and  write  except  the  priests.  Some  of  these  could 
read  not  only  their  own  but  foreign  languages  ;  but  the 
feudal  counts  and  barons  affected  to  believe  that  reading 
and  writing  were  beneath  a  nobleman  or  a  man-at-arrns, 
and  they  boasted  of  their  ignorance.  Many  a  feudal  noble 
who  could  put  fifty  thousand  men  into  the  field  could  not 
write  his  own  name,  1nit  signed  leases  and  treaties  by 
stamping  a  seal  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  As  for  the 
common  people,  they  never  had  a  chance  to  learn,  and  it 
was  not  considered  the  thing  for  a  lady  to  be  reading  man- 


94  [1223-1226 

uscripts.  It  was  thought  she  should  spend  her  time  in 
playing  the  lute  or  working  embroidery.  In  the  South 
love  songs  and  romances  were  handed  down  from  minstrel 
to  minstrel,  and  were  sung  or  spoken  at  feasts,  and  in  parts 
of  the  North  there  were  schools  where  nice  questions  of  phi- 
losophy and  theology  were  discussed.  But  there  were  no 
real  schools  in  France. 

Nobody  knew  anything  about  medicine.  Wounds  were 
generally  dressed  by  women,  a  few  of  whom  learned  some- 
thing about  the  effect  of  herbs.  As  for  the  men-doctors, 
they  either  gave  doses  of  medicine  which  were  as  likely  to 
kill  as  to  cure,  or  burned  their  patients  with  red-hot  irons, 
or  they  bled  them,  as  though  any  good  could  be  done  by 
Weakening  a  man  who  was  weak  enough  before. 

If  you  ask  me  if  the  French  were  a  happy  people  at  this 
time,  I  must  say  that  I  do  not  know,  though  they  had  much 
to  make  them  otherwise.  The  main  business  of  France,  as 
you  have  perceived  already,  was  war.  Every  year  some 
war  raged,  some  poor  fellows  were  killed  in  other  people's 
quarrels,  some  honest  peasants'  farms  were  pillaged  by  sol- 
diers, and  some  women  and  children  were  thrown  out  into 
the  wide  world  to  starve.  Neither  life  nor  property  was 
safe,  and  the  people  of  France  had  little  or  nothing  to  say 
about  their  government. 

In  some  towns  people  had  clubbed  together  and  paid 
their  feudal  lord  a  sum  of  money  in  return  for  bis  promise 
not  to  interfere  with  them  ;  and  now  and  then  these  cities 
fought  fiercely  for  the  liberties  they  had  thus  gained.  All 
the  people  were  pious,  and  they  took  a  great  deal  of  com- 
fort out  of  their  religion,  especially  when  the  priests  were 
wise  and  kind,  which  I  think  was  generally  the  case. 
Then  as  now,  I  make  no  doubt  but,  when  the  enemy  was 
not  in  sight,  the  French  were  often  gay  and  cheerful,  as 
they  are  to-day,  and  I  dare  say  they  sometimes  thought 
their  lives  were  not  so  wretched  after  all. 


MINIATURE  PORTRAIT  OP  KING  LOUIS  IX 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SAINT-LOUIS 
A.D.  1226-1270 

THE  last  king  of  France — Louis  the  Lion — was  Louis  the 
Eighth  ;  his  successor,  who  was  Louis  the  Ninth,  is  better 
known  as  Saint-Louis,  because  he  was  so  good  that  he  was 
canonized  as  a  saint.  He  was  indeed  wise,  gentle,  kind, 
generous,  merciful,  and  great-hearted.  During  the  first 
years  of  his  reign  his  mother,  Blanche  of  Castile,  ruled  the 
kingdom  for  him,  and  on  the  whole  ruled  it  prudently. 

Almost  her  first  act  was  to  put  an  end  to  the  war  at  the 
South  by  adding  Languedoc  and  the  county  of  Toulouse 
to  her  son's  realm.  Raymond,  Count  of  Narbonne,  who 
had  kept  up  the  war  and  had  been  excommunicated  in  con- 
sequence, made  his  peace  with  France  and  the  pope.  Oo  a 


06  [1226-127J 

day  set  he  appeared  in  the  cathedral  of  Notre  Dame  at 
Paris,  bare  from  shoulders  to  waist.  As  he  walked  up  the 
main  aisle  of  the  church  the  pope's  legate  walked  behind 
him,  scourging  him  with  a  whip.  When  he  reached  the 
altar  and  knelt  in  contrition,  the  legate  cried, 

"  Count  of  Narbonne,  I  absolve  thee  from  thy  excommu- 
nication." 

To  which  the  count  answered,  "Amen  !" 


CASTLE  OP   ANGEUS,  BUILT  BY   SAINT-LOUIS 

When  Louis  was  twenty,  he  married  a  princess  named 
Marguerite  of  Provence,  who  was  only  fourteen.  The 
wedding-feast  was  one  of  the  grandest  banquets  ever  seen 
in  France.  The  king  wore  a  coat  of  cloth  of  gold  and 
a  scarlet  mantle  of  the  same  stuff  trimmed  with  ermine. 
His  brother  waited  upon  him  and  carved  the  meat.  The 
feast  was  given  in  a  cloister  of  the  Cistercian  monks  ; 
the  king's  table  was  at  one  end.  of  the,  cloister,  and  at  the 


ISABELLA  SENDS  TWO  KUFFTANS  TO  KILL  THE  KING 

other  were  the  kitchens,  pantries,  and  offices,  from  which 
the  meat,  wine,  and  bread  were  brought.  In  the  other 
aisles  of  the  cloister  and  in  the  space  in  the  middle  were 
tables  at  which  no  less  than  three  thousand  knights  ban- 
quetted,  all  in  their  armor  and  their  suits  of  cloth  of  gold 
and  rich  stuffs. 

Everything  passed  off  pleasantly,  which  was  not  always 
the  case  when  the  king  met  his  subjects.     When  the  king 


08  [1226-1270 

and  queen  went  to  Poitiers,  Isabella  of  Angouleme  visited 
them.  The  king  sat  on  one  side  of  his  bed  and  the  queen, 
with  two  of  her  ladies,  on  the  other,  and  they  never  rose 
from  their  seats  when  Isabella  entered  the  room  or  when 
she  went  out.  Her  proud  spirit  could  not  brook  the  affront, 
and  she  called  on  her  husband  to  avenge  her. 

At  first  he  did  not  seem  hungry  to  fight  the  king,  but  he 
said, 

"  Madame,  I  will  do  all  that  I  can." 

"  If  you  do  not,"  replied  his  wife,  "  you  shall  never  enter 
my  presence  .again." 

As  he  made  little  progress  Isabella  sent  two  of  her  vas- 
sals to  poison  the  king.  She  gave  them  poison  which  they 
were  to  mix  in  his  wine.  They  were  caught  and  hanged, 
and  Isabella's  husband  nearly  lost  his  life  and  his  lands. 
To  please  his  wife  he  had  sworn  that  he  would  never  have 
his  hair  or  his  beard  cut  till  he  had  humbled  the  king,  but 
when  Louis  drew  near  with  his  army  he  sent  for  the  bar- 
ber directly. 

Then  the  old  dreadful  subject  of  the  Crusades  came  up 
again. 

Tribes  of  fierce  Tartars  came  swooping  down  from  Cen- 
tral Asia  and  proved  far  more  savage  than  the  Turks. 
The  Emperor  of  the  East  had  tried  to  pacify  them  by  swear- 
ing friendship  to  one  of  the  tribes  on  the  body  of  a  dead 
dog,  but  neither  the  oath  nor  the  dead  dog  served  hiii/. 
He  had  to  beg  for  help  from  King  Louis,  and  to  win  his 
favor  he  sent  him  the  true  crown  of  thorns  with  which  our 
Saviour  had  been  crowned  over  twelve  hundred  years  be- 
fore, and  the  king  walked  barefoot  as  far  as  Vincennes  to 
receive  it.  Still  Louis,  who  was  in  many  things  wise  as 
well  as  good,  did  not  accept  the  emperor's  invitation. 

While  he  was  pondering  he  fell  ill — so  ill  that  he  be- 
came speechless  ;  and  a  nurse  pulled  a  cloth  over  his  face, 
believing  that  he  was  dead.  But  he  suddenly  recovered 
his  speech  and  cried, 

"  The  cross  !  the  cross  !" 


1226-1270]  99 

They  laid  the  Crusader's  badge  on  his  heart ;  he  got  well 
and  called  his  men-at-arms  to  prepare  for  one  more  Prusade. 

The  army  assembled  at  a  seaport  on  the  Mediterranean, 
called  Aigues  Mortes.  On  a  bright  August  day,  when  all 
had  embarked  on  board  ship,  the  chief  captain  said  to  the 
king, 

"Sire,  call  up  your  priests,  for  the  weather  is  fine,  and 
we  must  weigh  anchor." 

"  Sing,  in  the  name  of  God  !"  called  the  king  ;  and  one 
after  another  every  ship's  crew  took  up  a  pious  chant,  and 
the  whole  fleet  put  to  sea. 

Ten  months  afterward  they  cast  anchor  off  the  port  of 
Damietta,  in  Egypt,  King  Louis  having  resolved  to  attack 
the  Egyptians,  whose  sultan  had  conquered  the  Holy  Land. 
King  Louis  was  the  first  to  leap  ashore  in  water  up  to  his 
waist.  There  was  a  battle  fought  at  a  place  called  Man- 
eourah,  where  both  sides  claimed  the  victory,  but  the 
French  lost  many  of  their  best  fighting-men.  The  Sara- 
cens threw  fire-balls  which  stuck  to  the  bodies  of  the 
French  and  burned  fiercely;  water  would  not  put  them 
out.  After  the  battle  disease  broke  out  among  the  French, 
and  they  died  by  hundreds.  Those  who  touched  the  dead 
bodies  took  the  disease  themselves  ;  thus  many  corpses 
were  left  unburied.  King  Louis  dug -trenches  with  his 
own  hands  and  carried  the  bodies  to  them,  but  he  could 
not  put  spirit  into  his  followers.  The  French  tried  to  1'e- 
treat,  but  the  Saracens  followed  them,  and  in  the  end  they 
were  obliged  to  surrender,  King  Louis  becoming  a  prisoner. 

While  the  Saracens  were  discussing  his  ransom,  forty 
Mamelukes,  who  were  the  best  fighters  in  the  Saracen  army, 
appeared  before  him,  and  one  of  them,  drawing  out  of  a 
bloody  cloth  the  head  of  a  freshly  killed  man,  cried, 

"There,  King,  is  your  enemy,  the  Sultan  of  Egypt,  who 
would  have  killed  you !  What  will  you  give  me  for  hav- 
ing slain  him  ?" 

The  king  turned  his  head  away  in  disgust  and  dismissed 
the  murderers, 


100  [1226-1270 

Tie  was  ransomed  after  a  time  and  spent  four  years  in 
Palestine,  caring  for  the  Christians.  Then,  on  the  death  of 
his  mother,  who  had  ruled  France  during  his  absence,  he 

i  O  f 

returned  home. 

For  fourteen  years  he  ruled  France  so  wisely  and  so  well 
that  I  do  not  know  where  to  find  an  equal  to  him  in  the 
whole  list  of  French  kings.  He  neither  wronged  any  man 
himself  nor  allowed  any  man  to  be  wronged  by  others. 
When  the  feudal  lords  oppressed  their  vassals,  he  called 
them  to  account,  and  punished  them  severely  if  they  per- 
sisted in  the  wrong.  He  compelled  them  to  have  the  roads 
through  their  fiefs  guarded  so  that  travellers  should  not  be 
robbed  in  broad  daylight  as  they  had  been.  When  the 
priests  went  to  him  and  complained  that  people  were  get- 
ting not  to  mind  being  excommunicated,  and  that  they  re- 
fused to  ask  for  absolution,  which  was  rather  an  expensive 
luxury,  he  sent  them  off  with  the  sharp  reproof  :  "  It  is 
contrary  to  God  and  common-sense  to  compel  people  to 
seek  absolution  when  the  priests  have  done  them  wrong." 

Near  the  church  at  Yincennes,  which  he  attended,  stood 
an  old  oak-tree  with  spreading  branches,  under  which  the 
king  used  to  sit  on  a  rug  to  hear  the  complaints  of  his 
people.  Every  one  was  free  to  tell  his  story.  When  he 
sat  down  he  called^ 

"Is  there  anyone  who  has  a  suit?"  And  when  some 
one  rose  he  continued, 

"  Now,  silence  all  !     Then  speak  one  after  the  other." 

His  judgment  was  so  clear  that  he  hardly  ever  decided 
a  case  wrong. 

But  news  kept  coming  of  the  dreadful  pei'secutions  of 
the  Christians  in  Asia.  Louis  felt  that  he  could  not  go  to 
his  last  rest  without  one  more  effort  to  stop  them.  Once 
more  he  raised  the  cross  in  the  great  hall  of  the  Louvre. 
But  people  had  learned  wisdom  in  the  last  hundred  years. 
Everybody  was  opposed  to  another  Crusade.  The  pope 
was  against  it ;  so  were  the  bishops  ;  so  were  the  priests  ; 
90  were  the  people.  However,  Louis  was  firm,  and  his 


SAINT-LOUIS  HOLDING  COURT  IN  THE  WOODS 

barons  could  not  let  him  go  alone.  Nor  could  the  kings 
of  Navarre,  Castile,  Aragon,  nor  the  sons  of  the  King  of 
England.  Poor  Louis  was  nearly  dead.  He  could  neither 
sit  on  a  horse  nor  ride  in  a  wagon.  He  had  to  be  carried 
in  a  litter.  But  his  spirit  was  as  undaunted  as  ever. 

The  Crusaders  landed  near  Carthage.    The  plague  broke 
out  among  them,  and  King  Louis  was  one'  of  the  first  a> 


102  [1226-1270 

tacked.  He  lost  his  best-loved  son  in  a  skirmish  in  land- 
ing. He  turned  to  his  daughter  Isabella  and  said, 

"  Most  dear  daughter,  many  persons  go  to  bed  full  of 
vain  and  sinful  thoughts,  and  in  the  morning  are  found 
dead.  The  true  way  of  loving  God  is  to  love  him  with  our 
whole  heart." 

In  the  night  he  rose  in  bed  several  times,  crying,  "  Jeru- 
salem !  Jerusalem  !"  Then  he  bade  his  attendants  lay  him 
on  a  coarse  sack  covered  with  ashes.  The  cross  was  raised 
before  him,  and  with  the  words,  "  I  will  enter  into  thy 
house,  O  Lord  !"  he  peacefully  expired. 

I  think  you  will  agree  that  if  any  one  of  whom  I  have 
told  you  is  entitled  to  the  name  of  saint,  he  is  the  man. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   SICILIAN   VESPERS 
A.D.  1270-1285 

AFTER  Saint-Louis,  the  next  in  the  line  of  French  kings 
is  Philip  the  Third,  called  Philip  the  Bold,  I  suppose  be- 
cause he  was  timid  and  henpecked.  The  most  interesting 
person  in  his  reign  was  his  uncle — Charles  of  Anjou — who 
commanded  the  French  at  Carthage  after  the  death  of 
Saint-Louis.  This  Charles  of  Anjou  had  a  thrilling  history. 

Eight  years  before  Saint  Louis's  death — that  is  to  say,  in 
the  year  1262 — the  pope  offered  Charles  the  throne  of  Na- 
ples and  Sicily.  The  throne  did  not  belong  to  the  pope  to 
give,  nor  was  it  becoming  in  Charles  to  accept  it — but  he 
did.  The  true  heir  to  the  throne  was  a  boy  of  fifteen, 
named  Conradine.  Him  Charles  caught,  as  he  appeared  at 
Naples  to  demand  his  rights,  and  thrust  into  a  dungeon. 
What  was  to  be  done  with  him  ? 

"  Try  him  for  high  treason,"  whispered  the  pope. 

They  tried  him,  though  the  charge  was  so  absurd  that 
all  the  judges  save  one  objected  to  find  a  verdict,  and 
Charles's  own  son-in-law  afterward  slew  that  one  with  a 
blow  of  his  sword;  but  the  verdict  was  found,  a  scaffold 
was  erected  in  the  public  square  of  Naples,  and  there  on 
the  26th  of  October,  1269,  young  Conradine  had  his  head 
chopped  off,  his  last  words  being,  "My  mother,  my  mother, 
how  thou  wilt  grieve  over  the  news  they  will  bring  thee  !" 

But  there  was  a  man  who  swore  a  great  oath  that  he  would 
avenge  him.  This  man's  name  was  John  of  Procida,  his 
calling  that  of  a  doctor,  his  country  Italy.  He  took  no 
man  into  his  counsel,  but  went  over  into  Spain  and  asked 
the  King  of  Aragon  would  he  make  war  upon  Charles  of 


104  [1270-1285 

Anjou  and  become  King  of  Naples  and  Sicily  ?  Don  Pe- 
dro of  Aragon  would  have  liked  nothing  better,  but  Charles 
of  Anjou,  with  France  to  back  him,  was  too  strong,  and  he 
refused.  Then  John  of  Procida  sold  his  house  and  all  that 
he  had,  and  disappeared  so  completely  that  no  one  could 
tell  what  had  become  of  him.  In  fact,  he  had  put  on  the 
robe  of  a  begging  monk,  and  was  wandering  through  the 
world  in  that  disguise,  begging  his  bread  from  place  to 
place. 

He  went  to  the  Emperor  of  the  East,  and  offered  him 
Sicily  if  he  would  send  an  army  against  Charles.  The  em- 
peror was  not  loath,  but  he  also  was  afraid.  Then  Procida 
went  to  the  pope  :  he  hated  Charles  and  desired  his  ruin ; 
but  he  died,  and  Charles  made  a  trembling  monk  of  Tours, 
whom  he  owned  body  and  soul,  pope  in  his  place.  Then 
John  of  Procida  went  to  the  feudal  lords  of  Sicily,  and 
they  neither  died  nor  were  afraid;  but  said  that  whenever 
Procida  gave  the  word  they  would  rise  against  Charles 
at  the  head  of  their  vassals.  The  Sicilians  were  all  boiling 
with  rage  against  the  tyrant,  who  ground  them  with  such 
cruel  taxation  that  the  goat-herd,  and  the  shepherd,  arid  the 
cow-herd,  and  the  bee-keeper,  and  the  fruit-grower  did  not 
know  where  to  turn  to  get  bread  for  their  families.  There 
was  such  a  mutinous  look  in  their  eyes  that  Charles  forbade 
the  Sicilians  to  carry  arms  and  ordered  his  officers  to  carry 
out  the  law  strictly. 

In  the  afternoon  of  tho  Easter  Monday  of  the  year  1282, 
through  green  fields  and  gardens  bursting  with  flowers, 
the  people  of  Palermo,  in  their  best  clothes,  walked  up  the 
hill  to  Monreale  to  hear  vespers.  Among  them  was  a  beau- 
tiful girl  of  high  degree,  on  the  arm  of  her  betrothed  and 
surrounded  by  her  family.  An  officer  of  Charles,  named 
Brouet,  stopped  the  men,  examined  them  for  concealed 
weapons,  and  then  grossly  insulted  the  young  lady.  Her 
betrothed  struck  the  brute  dead  with  his  own  sword.  In- 
stantly the  cry  arose,  "Death  to  the  French  !"  and  wherever 
a  Frenchman  was  found  he  was  slain.  Procida  had  laid 


1270-1285]  105 

bis  plans  so  well  that  people  had  their  arms  in  readiness, 
and  ran  out  of  their  houses  prepared  for  battle.  But  there 
was  no  resistance.  The  cry  was  "Kill  !"  "Kill  !"  and  the 
sun  of  that  Easter  Monday  went  down  in  blood.  The  ter- 
rible massacre  is  known  in  history  as  the  Sicilian  Vespers. 

Then  the  King  of  Aragon  took  courage,  sent  a  fleet 
to  Sicily,  and  landed  an  army.  Charles  would  not  fight 
him  ;  he  drew  off  his  ships,  and  the  Spanish  vessels,  though 
far  inferior  in  numbers,  went  in  chase  of  them.  They  were 
many  days  absent. 

At  last  one  morning  before  daybreak  a  fleet  was  seen 
from  the  light-house  at  Messina.  The  Sicilians  felt  sure 
that  these  were  the  ships  of  Charles  of  Anjou,  and  that 
they  had  captured  or  destroyed  the  Spanish  fleet.  They 
roused  Don  Pedro,  who  mounted  a  horse  and  rode  down 
to  the  sea-shore  in  the  gray  morning  ;  he  found  all  the 
people  weeping  and  wailing.  He  looked  warily  out  to 
sea  and  called  aloud,  "  Good  people,  be  of  good  cheer  ; 
those  are  our  galleys  which  are  bringing  in  Charles's  fleet." 

Just  then  an  armed  vessel,  bearing  the  flag  of  Aragon/ 
detached  itself  from  the  fleet  and  steered  for  the  golden 
fountain  behind  which  King  Pedro  sat  on  his  horse,  with 
his  banner  borne  by  a  body  of  cavalry.  When  the  vessel 
touched  shore  the  captain  landed  and  said  to  the  king, 

"  Lord,  behold  your  galleys  ;  they  bring  you  those  of 
your  enemies." 

At  these  words  the  king  dismounted  and  fell  on  his 
knees.  Soldiers  and  people  followed  his  example,  and  all 
sang  a  hymn  of  praise  to  God.  The  Sicilians  knew  that 
they  had  regained  their  liberties,  and  never  did  any  one 
Bee  such  joy  as  theirs. 

Charles  of  Anjou  was  crazed  by  his  defeat.  He  offered 
to  settle  the  dispute  with  Don  Pedro  by  a  duel,  and  actu- 
ally went  to  Bordeaux  to  meet  him,  but  the  King  of  Ara- 
gon was  not  foolish  enough  to  indulge  in  such  silly  busi- 
ness ;  he  rode  into  Bordeaux  and  rode  out  again  so  swiftly 
that  he  was  gone  before  Charles  knew  that  he  bad  arrived, 


106  [1270-1286 

Then  Charles  sent  a  fleet  under  a  lame  son  of  his  to  defy 
the  Aragonese  fleet  in  the  Bay  of  Naples.  The  lame 
prince  had  forty-five  galleys,  the  Spanish  captain  only 
thirty-five ;  but  the  Spaniards  accepted  battle  and  de- 
feated the  French  fleet,  taking  the  lame  prince  prisoner. 
When  the  news  of  his  son's  capture  was  brought  to  his 
father,  he  cried, 

"  Why  is  he  not  dead  ?" 

Death  soon  overtook,  not  his  lame  son,  but  himself. 
His  friend  the  pope  took  up  his  cause  and  gave  the  king- 
dom of  Aragon — which  did  not  belong  to  him — to  a 
French  prince,  the  son  of  Philip  the  Bold.  But  he  could 
not  deliver  the  kingdom — he  could  only  cause  more  long 
and  fruitless  wars  which  left  things  as  they  were. 

Philip  the  Bold  was  ruled  by  his  wife,  Mary  of  Brabant, 
who  was  beautiful  and  cunning.  Before  her  marriage 
Philip  had  been  ruled  by  a  barber-surgeon  whose  name 
was  Brosse.  Brosse,  jealous  of  the  new  queen,  accused 
her  of  all  manner  of  crimes  ;  she  denied  everything  and 
accused  the  barber-surgeon  of  crimes  fully  as  black.  King 
Philip  referred  the  case  to  a  fortune-teller,  who  decided 
that  the  queen  was  innocent  and  Brosse  guilty.  Where- 
upon the  barber-surgeon  was  hanged,  and  the  queen  went 
on  ruling  her  husband  until  he  died  of  a  fever  on  an  expe- 
dition to  capture  Aragou  for  his  son. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

PHILIP  THE   HANDSOME 
A.D.   1285-1314 

THE  successor  of  Philip  the  Bold  was  his  son  Philip  the 
Fourth,  who  was  nicknamed  Philip  the  Handsome.  His 
reign  was  exciting. 

He  made  in  the  laws  a  great  number  of  changes  which 
were  on  the  whole  improvements.  He  would  not  allow 
any  one  but  himself  to  rob  the  Jews.  He  would  not  allow 
priests  to  try  cases  in  court,  or  to  sit  in  Parliament,  or  to 
hold  civil  office.  He  stopped  legacies  of  property  to  the 
Church.  He  provided  that  persons  could  buy  and  own 
land  without  being  feudal  lords.  He  founded  colleges. 
He  stopped  the  absurd  fashion  of  trial  by  battle.  He  es- 
tablished custom-houses  and  laid  duties  on  foreign  goods 
imported  into  France.  With  these  sensible  changes,  he 
made  others  which  were  not  so  sensible.  He  coined 
money  of  less  than  the  lawful  weight  and  made  it  a  crime 
to  weigh  his  coins.  He  fixed  by  law  the  clothing  which 
people  should  wear  and  the  food  which  they  should  eat. 
They  could  not  have  more  than  one  soup  and  two  meat 
dishes  at  dinner  at  half-past  eleven,  and  not  more  than  one 
kind  of  meat  should  be  served  in  each  dish.  If  he  had 
done  nothing  worse  than  meddle  with  people's  dinners, 
you  would  have  thought  better  of  him  than  I  am  afraid 
you  can.  But  he  was  the  greediest  thief  in  France. 

He  had  the  usual  war  with  England  ;  it  broke  out  this 
time  from  a  fight  between  English  and  Norman  sailors,  in 
which  the  Normans  hung  an  English  sea-captain  to  his 
own  yard-arm  with  a  dead  dog  tied  to  his  feet.  A  more 
serious  war  was  with  Flanders,  which  Philip  seized  and 


108  [1285-1314 

annexed  to  France  on  the  pretence  that  the  Flemish  lords 
had  been  untrue  to  him — in  reality  because  Flanders  waa 
rich,  and  he  was  always  in  need  of  money.  He  sent  a 
body  of  troops  into  the  country,  under  trusty  officers,  and 
bade  them  bleed  the  Flemings  till  their  fat  bodies  ran  with 
coin.  They  were  not  men  to  stand  that  kind  of  bleeding. 

On  the  21st  of  March,  1302,  after  night  had  fallen,  every 
iron  caldron  in  Bruges  was  brought  out  into  the  street,  and 
people  began  to  beat  them  with  iron  hammers.  Every- 
body knew  what  this  meant.  A  little  one-eyed  fellow 
named  King,  who  was  the  leader  of  the  workmen,  had  set- 
tled upon  the  signal.  Instantly  a  butcher,  meeting  a 
Frenchman,  struck  him  dead  with  his  cleaver.  The  whole 
city  burst  forth  in  the  black  night,  and  wherever  a  French- 
man was  met  he  was  killed,  the  women  taking  great  de- 
light in  throwing  the  fugitives  out  of  windows.  The 
bloody  work  went  on  next  day  and  the  day  after,  and 
what  was  done  at  Bruges  was  also  done  at  Ypres,  Grave- 
lines,  and  other  towns.  So  the  French  were  wiped  off  the 
face  of  Flanders,  as  they  had  been  wiped  off  the  face  of 
Sicily. 

Up  came  French  armies  to  avenge  their  countrymen, 
and  opposite  them  in  bold  array  stood  the  Flemings,  drawn 
up  behind  a  deep  ditch,  each  man  with  a  pike  shod  with 
iron  stuck  in  the  ground  before  him.  The  French  could 
not  see  the  ditch,  and  when  they  charged,  with  a  furious 
rush,  they  rolled  into  it  one  on  top  of  the  other,  the 
knights  lying  helpless  in  their  heavy  armor  ;  the  Flemings 
beat  their  brains  out  with  iron  or  leaden  mauls,  and  in  a 
very  little  while  the  battle  was  over,  and  the  remains  of 
the  French  army  marched  back  home. 

But  this  was  nothing  to  the  war  between  Philip  and 
the  pope.  The  latter  was  a  fighting  priest,  by  name 
Boniface  ;  he  invited  the  whole  world  to  visit  Rome  on 
the  occasion  of  the  centennial  anniversary  of  the  Church, 
in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1300,  and  to  those  who  came  with 
full  pockets  and  open  hands  he  promised  remission  of  their 


sins.  They  came  in  such  crowds  that  they  slept  in  tents 
or  under  awnings  in  the  streets,  and  they  laid  so  much 
money  on  the  altars  that  priests  raked  it  up  with  rakes 
without  counting  it.  Now  there  was  one  thing  which 
Philip  loved  above  everything  else — that  was  money. 

It  enraged  him  to  see  archbishops  and  bishops,  canons 
and  monks,  all  round  and  sleek,  rolling  in  wealth  and 
feeding  on  the  fat  of  the  earth.  He  established  a  new 
tax,  the  maltote,  which  required  citizens  to  pay  one  fif- 
tieth of  their  substance  to  the  king,  and  he  ordered  that 


110  [1285-1314 

priests  should  pay  like  other  people.  The  pope  retorted 
with  a  bull,  excommunicating  priests  who  paid  money  to 
the  king  without  the  permission  of  the  Church.  Philip 
struck  back  by  forbidding  the  export  of  gold  or  silver, 
which  cut  off  the  pope's  supply  of  Peter's  pence  from 
France.  The  pope  sent  a  legate  into  Languedoc  to  stir  up 
the  people  against  the  king  ;  the  king  caught  the  legate 
and  condemned  him  to  death.  The  pope  issued  a  bull 
against  the  king,  warning  him  against  the  danger  of  rebel- 
ling against  his  spiritual  superior  ;  the  bull  was  burned  in 
a  public  square  in  Paris,  in  the  presence  of  nobles,  sol- 
diers, and  people.  The  pope  summoned  the  French  clergy 
to  meet  him  at  Rome  ;  the  king  forbade  them  to  leave 
France. 

I  suppose  the  quarrel  had  become  so  bitter  that  it  could 
not  go  on  without  an  outbreak.  So  thought  Novaret,  a 
Gascon,  and  Sciarra  Colonna,  an  Italian,  both  friends  of 
Philip's  and  with  Philip's  money  in  their  pockets.  They 
started  for  Anagni,  where  the  pope  was  staying,  and  tore 
into  the  town  at  the  head  of  a  body  of  cavalry.  A  ft-\v 
cardinals,  who  were  in  attendance  on  the  pope,  jumped 
out  of  a  window  and  hid  in  country  -  houses.  Sciarra 
Colonna  broke  open  the  doors  of  the  house  where  the  pope 
was,  troopers  dashed  through  the  windows,  and  they  burst 
into  the  pope's  room.  He  was  seated  on  his  throne,  with 
his  pope's  robe  on,  the  papal  tiara  on  his  head,  a  crucifix 
in  one  hand  and  his  keys  in  the  other.  He  was  silent  for 
a  moment ;  then  he  spoke, 

"  Here  is  my  bead  !     Here  is  my  throat !" 

Sciarra  Colonna  struck  the  old  man — he  was  eighty-six — 
on  his  cheek  with  his  mailed  hand. 

For  three  days  they  kept  him  prisoner,  the  Gascon 
Novaret  not  daring  to  kill  him.  Then  the  people  of 
Aitagni  rose  and  rescued  him,  driving  Philip's  friends  out 
of  the  place. 

They  bore  him  into  the  public  square,  crying  like  a 
child.  "Good  people,"  he  stammered,  "I  thank  you,  I 


1285-1314]  111 

have  had  nothing  to  eat  or  drink  for  three  days  ;  if  there 
be  any  good  woman  who  will  bestow  on  me  a  little  bread 
and  wine,  or  water  if  she  have  no  wine,  I  will  give  her 
God's  blessing  and  mine.  Whoever  will  bring  me  the  least 
thing  to  relieve  my  wants,  I  will  give  him  absolution  for 
all  his  sins." 

They  took  him  to  Rome,  where  his  mind  gave  way  un- 
der the  shock  he  had  endured,  and  he  died  without  having 
received  the  sacrament — as  if  to  confirm  the  prophecy  of  a 
bitter  enemy,  who  had  said  long  before  that,  as  "  he  had 
climbed  like  a  fox,  and  reigned  like  a  lion,  he  would  die 
like  a  dog." 

From  the  first  to  the  last  King  Philip  had  but  one 
thought — money.  He  had  taken  from  the  Church  in 
France  all  the  money  he  could  find,  and  now  he  turned  on 
the  Knights  Templar,  who  were  known  to  be  immensely 
rich.  They  were  a  body  of  fighting  monks,  who  had  at 
first  banded  themselves  together  to  fight  on  the  side  of  the 
Crusaders.  When  the  Crusades  were  over  they  became 
soldiers  of  fortune,  who  fought  for  any  one  who  would  pay 
them,  and,  as  they  were  brave  and  skilful,  their  services 
were  in  great  request.  They  lived  without  women,  at- 
tended no  church  but  their  own,  wore  armor  at  all  times, 
and  looked  fierce  enough  with  their  cropped  hair  and  their 
dark,  frowning,  weather-beaten  faces.  They  had  gradually 
acquired  a  vast  quantity  of  property.  It  is  said  that  they 
owned  ten  thousand  estates,  besides  castles  and  strong 
places ;  but  their  principal  home  was  in  that  part  of  Paris 
which  was  called,  after  them,  the  Temple,  and  which  has 
given  its  name  to  one  of  the  finest  boulevards  in  the  gay 
city.  When  they  had  built  their  house  in  this  quarter 
they  moved  their  treasure  into  it ;  it  consisted  of  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  florins  of  gold  and  ten  mule-loads 
of  silver.  Philip  declared  that  he  would  have  that  money. 

He  instigated  all  sorts  of  improbable  and  indeed  absurd 
charges  against  the  knights,  and  on  them  he  had  the 
Grand  Master,  Jacques  Molay,  and  a  hundred  and  forty 


112  [1285-1314 

knights  arrested  at  Paris.  Other  arrests  followed  all  over 
the  kingdom.  The  attack  on  the  knights  was  so  unreason- 
able that  the  pope  protested,  whereupon  Philip  extorted 
from  a  hundred  knights  by  the  most  frightful  tortures — in 
which  both  fire  and  steel  were  used — confessions  of  hide- 
ous crimes.  And  in  the  meantime,  to  prevent  interference, 
he  made  the  pope  himself  a  prisoner  at  Avignon  in  France. 

Then  followed  a  trial  which  lasted  four  years.  In  the 
intervals  of  the  sittings  of  the  court,  torture  was  constantly 
applied  to  the  prisoners  to  make  them  confess.  Of  those 
who  did — and  you  may  fancy  how  they  were  driven  to 
confess  when  I  tell  you  that  the  feet  of  one  knight  were 
held  before  a  fire  until  the  bones  of  his  heel  cracked  off, 
while  a  third  was  three  times  stretched  on  the  rack  and 
was  then  kept  for  thirty-six  weeks  in  a  noisome  pit  on 
bread  and  water — fifty-four  recanted  their  confessions 
when  they  were  well  enough  to  speak. 

They  were  forthwith  taken  out  and  burned  to  death. 

The  Grand  Master,  Jacques  Molay,  made  a  sort  of  half 
confession,  which  in  reality  was  only  a  submission  to  the 
Church.  He  was  taken  back  to  his  dungeon  ;  whether  he 
had  been  or  was  tortured  I  do  not  know.  But  his  man- 
hood came  back  to  him.  He  stood  up  bravely  before  his 
judges  and  declared  that  neither  he  nor  his  order  had  done 
anything  that  was  contrary  to  religion  or  to  the  Church 
— that  he  had  nothing  to  confess. 

They  took  him  back  to  his  dungeon  and  sentenced  him 
and  three  other  knights,  who  had  also  recanted,  to  be 
burned  alive.  Two  of  the  three  recanted  their  recanta- 
tion and  were  kept  in  prison  for  life.  In  the  gray  twi- 
light of  a  March  evening,  in  the  year  1314,  Molay  and  the 
other  were  ferried  to  an  island  in  the  Seine,  on  which  two 
stakes  had  been  set.  When  the  knights  were  chained  to 
the  stakes  a  quantity  of  green  branches  and  wet  firewood 
was  piled  around  their  legs  and  feet,  and  it  was  set  on  fire. 
The  damp  logs  and  twigs  burned  slowly  ;  the  flames  curled 
b.e  knights.'  bodies,  inflicting  excruciating  agony 


1285-1314]  113 

without  causing  death.  For  an  hour  the  voices  of  the 
dying  men  were  heard  through  the  thick  smoke,  protest- 
ing that  their  order  was  innocent  of  crime.  Then  a  silence 
fell,  and  the  wood  began  to  burn  up  briskly. 

On  a  log  near  by  sat  the  King  of  France,  listening  to  the 
crackling  of  the  flames  with  no  more  expression  on  his  face 
than  you  could  have  seen  on  the  bark  of  the  log  on  which 
he  sat. 
8 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SORCERY   AND   DELUSION 
A.  D.   1314-1328 

DURING  the  fourteen  years  which  followed  the  death 
of  Philip  the  Handsome — who  was  killed  by  a  fall  from 
his  horse — three  sons  of  his  reigned  in  France  :  Louis  the 
Tenth,  who  reigned  two  years  ;  Philip  the  Fifth,  who 
reigned  six  ;  and  Charles  the  Fourth,  who  reigned  six. 

The  events  of  their  reigns  were  so  unimportant  that  you 
would  hardly  care  to  hear  of  them.  They  were  of  no  con- 
sequence while  they  lived,  and  their  memory  was  of  no 
interest  when  they  were  dead.  All  three  met  with  sudden 
deaths.  Louis  the  Tenth  died  from  drinking  mulled  wine 
after  a  game  at  tennis ;  and  Philip  and  Charles  perished 
of  diseases  which  no  one  could  explain,  but  which  carried 
them  off  very  rapidly.  You  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear 
that  it  was  suspected  they  were  poisoned.  There  were  a 
good  many  people  who  had  grudges  against  the  posterity 
of  Philip  the  Handsome. 

It  will  interest  you  more  to  hear  something  of  the  strange 
delusions  which  pervaded  the  world,  and  France  especially, 
during  their  time.  People  all  seemed  to  have  gone  mad 
on  some  crotchet  or  other.  In  every  country  of  the  world, 
at  all  times,  ignorant  people  have  believed  things  which 
were  contrary  to  reason  ;  the  propensity  is  liable  to  break 
out  with  virulence  at  odd  intervals,  and  the  fourteenth 
century  saw  one  of  the  outbreaks.  In  that  century  people 
went  positively  crazy  on  the  subjects  of  witchcraft,  sorcery, 
religious  enthusiasm,  and  race  prejudice.  This  was  in 
large  part  due  to  the  misery  of  the  common  people.  When 
Philip  the  Handsome  robbed  the  feudal  lords,  the  lords 


1314-1328]  115 

turned  round  and  robbed  their  vassals ;  and  these  last,  in 
their  dreadful  misery,  lost  their  heads  altogether. 

Many  thousands  of  them  met  in  the  fields  near  Paris 
and  said  they  were  going  to  the  Holy  Land,  where  they 
would  find  rest.  They  had  no  money ;  they  had  to  steal 
food  when  they  could  not  beg  it ;  one  town  passed  them  on 
to  another  to  get  rid  of  them  until  they  reached  Toulouse. 
There  troops  were  called  out,  and  the  miserable  vagabonds 
were  hanged  in  batches  of  twenty  till  they  scattered. 

The  Jews  were  always  being  driven  out  of  France  and 
were  always  coming  back,  as  if  they  enjoyed  being  robbed. 
The  peasants  now  accused  them  of  having  plotted  with  lep- 
ers— that  is,  persons  afflicted  with  the  horrible  disease  of 
leprosy — to  poison  the  wells.  A  miserable  leper  confessed 
that  he  had  got  money  from  a  Jew  for  throwing  into  a  well 
a  package  containing  an  adder's  head,  the  legs  of  a  frog, 
and  a  woman's  hair,  the  whole  mixed  with  human  blood  ; 
and,  the  pretext  serving,  Jews  and  lepers  were  murdered 
whenever  they  were  found.  At  Chinon  a  big  pit  was  dug 
and  the  bottom  covered  with  burning  firewood.  Into  this 
pit  a  hundred  and  fifty  Jews — men,  women,  and  children 
— were  compelled  to  leap  at  the  end  of  a  pitchfork. 

Forty  Jews  agreed  to  die  together  at  the  top  of  a  high 
house,  and  chose  of  their  number  an  old  and  a  young  man 
to  kill  the  other  thirty-eight.  When  the  work  was  done, 
and  only  the  two  remained,  they  drew  lots  which  should 
kill  the  other ;  the  young  man  drew  the  long  straw,  and  he 
stabbed  the  old  man,  promising  to  meet  him  presently  in 
the  next  world.  But  when  he  found  himself  alone  he 
changed  his  mind  and  resolved  to  live.  He  stripped  the 
thirty-nine  corpses  of  purses,  money,  and  jewels,  and  let 
himself  down  by  a  rope  ;  but  the  rope  was  too  short,  be 
fell,  was  taken,  and  burned. 

When  you  remember  that  there  was  no  drainage  any- 
where in  France,  that  heaps  of  rotting  garbage  seethed  in 
the  Southern  sun,  and  that  the  common  people  were  al- 
ways ill-fed  when  they  were  fed  at  all,  you  will  not  be 


116  [1314-1328 

surprised  to  hear  that  disease  never  stayed  its  hand.  There 
was  an  awful  plague  in  this  fourteenth  century,  which  was 
called  the  Black  Death.  I  suppose  it  was  a  malignant 
fever  with  blood-poisoning.  It  was  always  breaking  out, 
destroying  thousands  of  lives  ;  then  subsiding  for  a  while  ; 
then  breaking  out  again.  After  one  terrible  outbreak,  in 
which  some  of  the  best  people  of  the  day  were  carried 
off,  a  lot  of  cranks  declared  that  the  wrath  of  God  must 
be  appeased  by  penance.  They  formed  themselves  into 
processions  —  men,  women,  and  children  —  and  marched 
through  Europe  in  long  files,  whipping  each  other  on  the 
bare  back.  They  were  called  Flagellants  or  Whippers; 
and  it  is  said — I  do  not  know  how  true  it  may  be — that 
there  were  at  one  time  nine  hundred  thousand  of  them, 
all  lashing  each  others'  raw  backs  till  the  blood  poured 
down. 

Everybody  at  that  time  believed  in  sorcery.  Generally 
speaking,  all  science  which  ignorant  people  could  not  un- 
derstand was  called  sorcery  ;  thus  you  heard  that  in  Charle- 
magne's time  a  bishop  was  supposed  to  practise  sorcery  be- 
cause he  had  made  a  clock,  and  in  this  fourteenth  century 
a  monk  was  accused  of  sorcery  because  he  had  a  bottle  of 
phosphorus  which  shone  in  the  dark.  A  great  many  peo- 
ple were  supposed  to  be  sorcerers,  and  to  have  the  power 
of  inflicting  disease,  or  of  paralyzing  the  tongue  or  the 
limbs  of  an  enemy,  or  of  causing  death  by  means  of  en- 
chantments. There  were  many  ways  in  which  these 
things  could  be  done.  A  very  superior  kind  of  sorcerer 
could  do  a  man  to  death  with  a  few  words  whispered,  in  a 
foreign  tongue,  over  the  bed  in  which  he  was  to  lie.  But 
legitimate  sorcery  was  done  with  wax  figures. 

If  you  had  lived  in  those  days,  and  had  been  as  bad  as  I 
hope  you  are  good,  and  had  wanted  to  put  your  enemy  out 
of  the  way,  you  would  have  made  a  little  wax  image  of 
him  a  few  inches  high.  Into  this  you  would  have  stuck 
needles.  If  your  sorcery  was  the  genuine  article,  each 
needle  gave  the  real  man  exquisite  pain,  and  eventual! v 


HANGING   A   SORCERER   IN   THE   MIDDLE   AGES 

laid  him  up  in  bed.  Then  you  went  on  sticking  more 
needles  into  the  wax  figure,  and  the  man  went  on  getting 
worse  ;  until  at  last,  when  you  were  tired  of  playing  with 
him,  you  set  your  figure  before  a  hot  fire,  the  wax  melted, 
and  the  man  died.  This  may  strike  you  as  something  like 
what  you  have  read  in  fairy  tales,  But  in  those  ignorant 


118  [1314-1328 

old  times  lots  of  people  lost  their  lives  on  charges  of  hav- 
ing caused  death  by  the  use  of  wax  figures. 

Jeanne,  the  wife  of  Philip  the  Handsome,  bore  a  grudge 
against  Gruilhard,  Bishop  of  Troyes,  in  Champagne.  The 
bishop  went  to  a  sorceress  and  gave  her  money  to  soothe 
the  queen's  temper.  The  sorceress  failing  to  make  the 
queen  better  disposed  to  the  bishop,  the  latter  went  to  a 
sorcerer  and  got  from  him  a  little  waxen  image  of  the 
queen,  christened  it  in  regular  style,  with  godfather  and 
godmothers,  and  stuck  it  full  of  needles.  The  queen  re- 
maining in  good  health,  the  sorcerer  got  frightened  and 
confessed.  Gruilhard  was  arrested,  and  it  would  have 
gone  hard  with  him  if,  just  then,  Jeanne  had  not  died. 
As  it  was,  he  spent  the  rest  of  his  life  in  prison. 

Marigny,  the  counsellor  of  Philip  the  Handsome,  did  not 
fare  so  well.  It  was  charged  against  him  that  his  wife 
had  made  a  wax  statue  of  Philip,  and  had  set  it  before  a 
fire  just  before  the  king's  death.  People  were  found  to 
swear  to  the  fact,  and  Marigny  was  hanged  and  his  wife 
imprisoned  for  life. 

Under  the  reign  of  Philip  the  Fifth,  laws  were  made 
providing  severe  punishments  for  workmen  who  shut  up 
evil  spirits  in  looking-glasses,  bracelets,  and  rings;  and  the 
king  himself  wore  a  ring  which  belonged  to  Margaret  of 
Foix,  in  which  a  good  spirit  was  said  to  live.  So  long  as 
he  wore  that  ring  the  king  felt  he  was  safe.  But  it  did 
not  prevent  his  dying  at  the  age  of  thirty. 


CHAPTER  XX 

FRANCE     HUMBLED 

A.D.  1328-1350 

AFTER  the  death  of  Charles  the  Fourth,  in  1328,  the 
crown  of  France  fell  to  a  cousin  of  his,  Philip  of  Valois, 
who  became  Philip  the  Sixth.  His  history  is  a  story  of 
defeat  in  war  and  of  social  triumphs  at  the  royal  court. 

It  seemed  that  the  English  and  French  never  could 
agree.  The  King  of  England,  Edward  the  Third,  had 
some  claim  to  the  throne  of  France,  and  his  pretension 
was  supported  by  a  French  noble  who  had  been  exiled 
from  France.  He  did  not  at  first  put  forth  his  claims,  but 
finding  a  war  raging — it  raged  off  and  on  for  a  century  or 
more — between  the  French  and  the  people  of  Flanders,  he 
sent  the  Flemings  a  fleet  of  war-ships  to  help  them.  Philip 
also  fitted  out  war-ships,  and  the  two  fleets  met  off  Helvet- 
sluys,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Scheldt.  Most  of  Philip's  ships 
were  hired  from  the  Genoese,  who  were  famous  sailors  in 
those  days.  But  the  Genoese  sailor  who  commanded  on 
this  occasion  did  not  know  his  business.  He  kept  his 
ships  moored  close  together  in  the  port,  and  the  English 
ships,  sailing  down  upon  them  with  a  free  wind,  captured 
the  Christopher,  which  was  the  flag-ship,  and  sank  so  many 
other  vessels  that  the  Genoese  hoisted  the  white  flag,  after 
losing  thirty  thousand  men. 

The  Flemish  leader  at  this  time  was  Jacob  Van  Arte- 
velde,  a  brewer  from  Ghent,  and  a  man  of  courage  and 
common-sense.  So  long  as  he  ruled  Flanders  it  prospered, 
but  one  day  the  people  grew  tired  of  him  and  accused  him 
of  having  stolen  the  public  money. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Artevelde,  standing  at  an  open  win- 


120  [1328-1350 

clow,  while  the  mob  stood  below,  "  I  have  not  taken  a  far- 
thing." 

But  the  mob  roared  that  they  did  not  believe  him,  and 
that  he  must  come  down  to  them. 

He,  knowing  what  that  meant,  fled  to  a  church  for 
refuge,  but  was  caught  on  the  steps  and  struck  dead  by  a 
blow  from  a  weaver's  knife. 

The  war  was  transferred  to  the  other  side  of  the  country, 
namely  to  Brittany.  Here  Charles  of  Blois  claimed  to  be 
duke,  and  on  his  side  was  Philip  of  France;  John  of  Mont- 
ford  also  claimed  to  be  duke,  and  on  his  side  was  Edward  of 
England.  Charles,  who  was  such  a  saint  that  he  walked 
barefoot  through  the  snow  to  hear  mass,  put  pebbles  in  his 
shoes,  and  wore  a  tightly  knotted  cord  round  his  bare  waist, 
caught  John  at  Nantes  and  sent  him  prisoner  to  Paris. 
John's  wife  Jeanne,  who  was  at  Rennes,  summoned  her 
fighting -men  together,  showed  them  her  little  son,  and 
made  them  swear  to  stand  by  this  dear  little  boy  to  the 
bitter  end.  She  shut  herself  up  in  a  fort,  which  Charles 
besieged.  At  the  head  of  her  Bretons  she  sallied  forth 

O 

and  drove  him  back  time  and  again,  but  still  he  kept  a 
close  siege.  Jeanne's  provisions  became  low,  her  fighting- 
men  grew  discouraged,  but  her  own  intrepid  soul  never 
quailed.  She  told  her  soldiers  that,  sooner  or  later,  the 
English  would  come  to  her  relief.  And  sure  enough,  just 
as  despair  was  settling  on  the  garrison,  the  lookout  on  the 
topmost  tower  saw  the  banner  of  Walter  Manny  waving  in 
the  distant  sunlight  and  creeping  and  creeping  nearer  and 
nearer  over  the  plain,  until  he  and  his  knights  rode  up 
furiously  and  cut  their  way  through  the  besiegers'  lines 
into  the  castle.  Beautiful  and  brave  Jeanne  of  Montford 
came  down  to  meet  them,  leading  her  little  son  by  the 
hand,  and  kissed  every  man  of  them. 

Both  the  King  of  England  and  the  King  of  France  must 
then  have  felt  that  it  was  time  to  fight  it  out  between 
them.  The  two  armies  met  at  a  place  called  Creci,  in 
Pieardy.  The  English  king  had  about  thirty-two  thou- 


ASSAULT  ON  A  WALLED  TOWN 

sand  men,  of  whom  eighteen  thousand  were  Welsh  and 
Irish — barefoot,  ignorant,  half  savage,  and  armed  with  pike 
and  knife.  He  had  no  cavalry,  but  he  had  a  body  of  Eng- 
lish archers,  and,  what  was  far  better,  a  body  of  gunners 
with  cannon — which  for  the  first  time  in  history  were 
then  used  in  battle,  The  French  had.  more  wen,  but  of 


122 

these  many  were  hired  Genoese  archers,  who,  on  the  excuse 
that  their  bowstrings  were  wet,  took  but  little  part  in  the 
battle,  and  ran  away  as  soon  as  they  could.  Among  the 
rest  were  the  flower  of  the  chivalry  of  France — princes, 
dukes,  counts,  barons,  and  knights — with  their  men-at- 
arms,  all  heavily  encumbered  with  steel  armor.  The 
French  had  plenty  of  cavalry,  but  no  artillery. 

Under  the  shower  of  English  arrows,  which  fell  like 
snow,  the  French  nobles  went  down,  horses  and  men  to- 
gether ;  where  they  fell  they  lay,  and  the  Welsh  and 
Irish  despatched  them  with  their  knives.  Wherever  they 
were  thickest,  cannon-balls  rolled  in,  felling  a  score  of 
men-at-arms  at  a  shot.  The  feudal  lords  fought  splendid- 
ly. They  charged  again  and  again  into  the  English  in- 
fantry, plying  their  battle-axes  ;  but  whenever  they  were 
thrown,  that  was  the  end  of  them.  They  could  not  get  up. 

The  old  blind  king  of  Bohemia,  hearing  shouts  which  to 
his  trained  ear  seemed  to  mean  defeat,  called  to  two  of  his 
knights, 

"Gentlemen,  as  I  am  blind,  I  must  request  you  to  lead 
me  so  far  into  the  battle  that  I  may  this  day  strike  one 
stroke  with  my  sword." 

They  tied  the  reins  of  his  horse  to  theirs,  and  together 
rode  furiously  into  the  English  ranks.  Next  day  all  three 
were  found  dead  side  by  side. 

The  battle  was  lost.  Philip,  with  a  few  faithful  knights, 
rode  from  the  field  and  did  not  draw  rein  till  he  reached 
the  gate  of  Amiens.  When  the  warder  answered  his 
knock, 

"  Who  seeks  entrance  at  this  hour  ?" 

"  It  is,"  said  Philip,  "  the  fortunes  of  France." 

Edward  moved  swiftly  to  Calais  and  laid  siege  to  the 
place.  He  built  a  wooden  town  round  it,  with  streets  and 
a  market-place.  Very  soon  hunger  began  to  be  felt  in  the 
town.  Four  hundred  infirm  old  men,  women,  and  children 
were  turned  out  because  there  was  no  food  to  give  them. 
Edward  let  them  die  between  his  lines  and  the  walls,  The 


CHARGE   OP   THE   FRKKCII   KNIGHTS 

garrison  ate  dogs,  cats,  and  rats  ;  they  chewed  leather 
boots  ;  they  made  soup  of  weeds  and  the  scrapings  of  old 
barrels  in  which  meat  and  flour  had  been  stored  ;  they 
grew  so  thin  that  many  could  hardly  stand ;  but  not  till  the 
last  ration  had  been  eaten  did  they  consent  to  surrender. 


124  [1328-1350 

Then  Eustachc  cle  Saint-Pierre,  with  five  others,  bare- 
headed, barefooted,  and  with  ropes  around  their  necks,  bore 
to  the  kino;  the  keys  of  Calais.  Edward  ordered  them  to 
immediate  execution,  as  the  custom  of  that  day  was  ;  but 
his  queen,  Philippa,  and  his  bravest  knights  begged  him  on 
their  knees  to  spare  the  old  men,  and  after  a  time  he  yield- 
ed. JJut  many  a  long  year  passed  before  Calais  again  be- 
came a  French  town. 

You  might  fancy  that  a  king  who  had  endured  so  crush- 
ing a  defeat  as  Creci,  and  who  had  lost  Calais  to  France, 
would  have  spent  his  last  years  in  sorrow  and  despair.  But 
from  his  coronation  to  his  death,  in  victory  or  defeat,  Philip 
was  always  gay.  splendid,  magnificent,  a  reveller  in  polished 
and  joyous  society.  He  set  the  fashion  of  building  gor- 
geous palaces  in  Paris,  and  made  it  then — what  it  is  now — 
the  finest  city  in  Europe.  After  a  terrible  epidemic  of  the 
Black  Death,  when  every  family  was  in  mourning,  and  he 
was  fifty-eight  years  of  age,  he  invited  all  the  fashion  of 
France  to  witness  his  marriage  to  a  beautiful  girl  of  eigh- 
teen, who  had  come  to  Paris  to  become  the  wife  of  his  son. 

His  favorite  home  was  at  Vincennes,  where  in  the  middle 
of  a  glorious  forest  of  oaks  he  had  built  a  castle  with  tow- 
ers and  donjon,  and  drawbridges  and  lakes,  and  shrubber- 
ies and  shady  bridle  paths,  and  leafy  lanes  for  lovers.  Here 
he  feasted  the  feudal  nobles,  with  their  daughters  and  fair 
ladies,  and  gave  deer-hunts  and  tournaments,  at  which  the 
most  lovely  women  in  France  figured  in  turn  as  Queen  of 
Beauty.  He  insisted  that  every  one  should  be  splendidly 
dressed.  The  men  wore  piebald  suits  of  silk,  fitting  closely 
to  their  figures,  and  with  enormous  sleeves  ;  the  hair  was 
done  up  in  a  queue,  and  beards  were  trimmed  fan-shape  ; 
the  points  of  men's  boots  were  fastened  to  their  belts  with 
thongs,  and  the  heel  ended  in  a  sort  of  claw.  On  the  heads 
of  the  ladies  were  tall  hats,  not  unlike  the  mitres  which 
bishops  wore,  and  from  these  long  ribbons  dangled  and 
floated  in  the  wind.  On  each  side  of  the  hat  the  hair  was 
•dressed  into  the  shape  of  a  horn,  and  below  the  horn  it  was 


1328-1350]  125 

the  fashion  to  wear  false  ears  of  prodigious  size.  Alto- 
gether, the  ladies'  heads  must  have  looked  like  heads  of 
cows.  Their  skirts  were  plaited  and  quilted  and  were  often 
covered  with  rich  embroideries.  By  this  time  stockings 
had  come  in  ;  they  were  of  silk  and  clocked.  Every  lady 
wore  a  belt,  to  which  a  bag  for  money  or  keys  was  at- 
tached, and  in  the  belt  was  stuck  a  dagger.  Reading  had 
become  almost  common  among  the  ladies ;  they  were  fond 
of  Italian  romances. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

ROBBERS    REIGN 
A.D.   1350-1364 

JOHN,  the  son  of  Philip  the  Sixth,  found  the  treasury 
empty  when  he  came  to  the  throne,  and  proceeded  to  try 
to  fill  it  by  imposing  a  tax  which  was  called  the  gabelle. 
This  tax  Charles  of  Navarre  refused  to  pay  on  his  lands 
in  France  ;  he  said  that  no  gatherer  of  that  tax  should 
ever  leave  his  fief  alive. 

King  John  took  horse  and  rode  thirty  hours  without 
stopping,  from  Orleans  to  Rouen,  where  Charles  of  Na- 
varre was  feasting  with  John's  son,  who,  being  heir  to  the 
throne,  was  called  the  dauphin.  On  arrival  the  king  strode 
into  the  banquet-hall,  preceded  by  a  squire  who  cried, 

"  Let  no  man  stir,  under  pain  of  death  !" 

Then,  seizing  the  King  of  Navarre  by  the  throat,  King 
John  exclaimed, 

"  Traitor !  thou  art  not  worthy  to  sit  at  my  son's  table. 
I  will  neither  eat  nor  drink  while  thou  livest." 

The  dauphin  threw  himself  at  his  father's  feet  and  be- 
sought him  to  remember  that  Charles  was  his  guest.  But 
the  angry  king  bade  his  men  bind  the  guest  and  three 
other  guests  ;  the  first  was  thrown  into  a  dungeon,  the 
other  three  were  beheaded  on  the  spot.  It  was  a  bad  be- 
ginning for  a  miserable  reign. 

A  large  part  of  France,  as  you  know,  was  held  by  the 
English.  A  party  of  English  troops,  under  Edward  the 
Black  Prince,  were  at  Bordeaux.  lie  had  four  thousand 
English  archers  and  four  thousand  Gascons,  half  of  whom 
were  mere  robbers  who  fought  for  the  plunder  they  could 
get.  The  King  of  France,  with  fifty  thousand  men,  includ- 


ARREST  OP  CHARLES  OF  NAVARRE  AT  ROUEN 

ing  twenty-six  dukes  and  a  hundred  and  forty  knights, 
marched  out  to  fight  him  near  a  place  called  Poitiers.  But 
as  at  Creci,  the  French  were  badly  handled.  They  were 
brave  enough,  but  they  could  not  resist  the  shock  of  the 
English,  who  charged  down  a  hill,  threw  the  front  ranks 
into  confusion,  and  backed  them  upon  the  rear  ranks ;  so  the 
larger  army  lost  the  day.  King  John  himself  fought  cour- 
ageously. His  youngest  son  was  by  his  side,  calling  to 
him, 


128  1350-1364] 

"  Father  !  guard  your  right  !  Father  !  guard  your 
left !" 

Then,  in  the  turmoil  of  battle,  the  king  was  surrounded, 
and  a  knight,  cleaving  his  way  through  the  press  by  sheer 
strength  and  thrusting  aside  the  weapons  with  his  hand, 
demanded  his  surrender.  lie  became  a  prisoner  in  Eng- 
land, and  never  again,  except  on  one  short  visit,  did  he 
tread  the  soil  of  France. 

Then  followed  eight  years  of  the  most  dreadful  confusion 
you  ever  read  of.  The  king's  son,  the  dauphin,  a  poor,  pale, 
consumptive  boy  of  nineteen,  was  unable  to  keep  order  or 
exert  authority.  There  was  a  meeting  of  the  States-Gen- 
eral, which  was  an  apology  for  a  congress,  but  it  could  say 
nothing  except  that  France  had  been  shamefully  robbed 
and  was  greatly  to  be  pitied.  The  English  released  their 
prisoners  on  condition  that  they  should  pay  ransom,  and 
the  barons  and  knights  squeezed  their  vassals  so  cruelly 
to  raise  it  that  the  poor  peasants  starved.  What  the 
barons  and  knights  left  them,  disbanded  soldiers  took. 
The  latter  became  highway  robbers  and  lived  \)j  plunder. 
All  over  France  the  roads  were  infested  by  parties  of  rob- 
bers, who  made  booty  of  everything  they  found. 

They  took  from  the  farmer  his  lean  cattle,  his  tumble- 
down cart,  his  poor  tools,  his  broken  plough,  and  his  worn 
harness.  If  they  thought  he  had  money  saved  they  held 
his  feet  to  a  fire  to  make  him  confess  where  it  was  hid. 
Those  who  did  these  things  were  not  common  robbers — 
they  were  quite  often  barons  who  had  fought  in  the  wars, 
and  had  taken  to  robbery  after  the  fighting  ceased.  Many 
of  them  were  rich.  One  of  their  ways  of  operating  was 
thus  :  When  they  observed  a  town  or  a  village  which 
seemed  to  be  worth  robbing,  they  would  gather  their  band 
of  forty  or  fifty  and  march  upon  it  in  the  night,  avoiding 
the  high  road,  and  getting  into  the  place  about  daybreak. 
Then  they  would  set  fire  to  a  house,  and  when  the  people 
sprang  half  awake  out  of  their  beds,  they  would  kill  the 
men  and  fill  the  air  with  unearthly  cries,  so  that  it  seemed 


1350-1364]  129 

there  was  an  army  in  the  place.  Then  the  towns-people 
would  run  away,  and  the  robbers  would  gather  in  the 
booty. 

In  many  parts  of  France  the  peasants  did  not  dare  to 
stay  in  their  houses,  but  lived  in  holes  in  the  ground  which 
were  connected  by  underground  passages.  Sometimes 
women  and  children  stayed  in  these  holes  for  weeks  to- 
gether, while  the  men  crept  out  from  time  to  time  to  see 
if  the  robbers  had  gone  away.  Of  course  the  fields  were 
not  seeded,  and  this  meant  famine. 

When  the  famine  pressed  too  cruelly,  the  peasantry  rose 
against  the  barons  and  became  robbers  in  their  turn.  They 
armed  themselves  with  scythes,  and  pitchforks,  and  clubs, 
and  knives,  and  such  poor  weapons  as  they  could  get,  and 
fell  upon  the  feudal  lords  and  killed  them,  sparing  none. 
This  is  called  in  history  the  Jacquerie. 

Thus  there  were  at  this  time  in  France  four  or  five  kinds 
of  bandits,  who  were  all  trying  to  live  on  the  country  by 
murder  and  robbery  :  the  regular  robbers,  who  were  dis- 
banded soldiers  ;  the  followers  of  the  Dauphin  ;  the  follow- 
ers of  Charles  of  Navarre ;  the  peasants  ;  and  here  and  there 
soldiers  of  fortune — English,  German,  and  French — who 
were  seeking  plunder.  These  parties  all  robbed  each  other, 
and  fought  with  each  other,  and  robbed  peaceable  people, 
and  burned  houses,  and  tore  up  vines  wherever  they  went. 

But  the  city  of  Paris  stood  like  a  rock  in  the  stormy  sea. 
Every  man  had  taken  up  arms  ;  they  had  chosen  as  their 
leader  Stephen  Marcel,  the  provost  of  the  merchants.  He 
raised  great  barricades  against  attack  and  manned  them 
with  men  that  could  fight.  Through  the  gates  long  strings 
of  peasants,  who  had  lost  everything,  and  trembling  monks 
and  nuns,  who  had  been  driven  from  their  houses,  came 
streaming  into  the  city  for  shelter.  Paris  took  them  all  in. 
Marcel  called  a  meeting  of  delegates  from  other  cities,  and, 
largely  through  the  counsels  of  the  wise  Archbishop  of 
Laon,  they  framed  a  plan  of  defence  and  government, 
which  they  required  the  dauphin  to  sign.  He  agreed  to  it; 
9 


130  [1360-1364 

broke  his  agreement ;  agreed  again  ;  and  again  refused  to 
agree.  The  people  grew  sick  of  him,  and  when  Charles  of 
Navarre  appeared  in  the  streets  they  cheered  him.  On 
one  troubled  night  they  would  have  taken  the  dauphin's 
life,  if  Marcel  had  not  thrust  on  his  head  a  red  and  blue 
hood  such  as  the  city  soldiers  wore. 

Then,  after  a  little  while,  the  people  of  Paris  changed 
their  minds  and  would  have  none  of  Charles  of  Navarre. 
Marcel  still  believed  in  him  and  went  out  to  meet  him  one 
night  to  give  him  the  key  of  one  of  the  city  gates.  To 
him  out  of  the  dark  night  came  the  voice  of  John  Mail- 
lart,  crying, 

"  Stephen,  -what  do  you  here  at  this  time  of  night  ?" 

"  I  am  here,"  said  Stephen  with  a  voice  which  shook, 
"  to  guard  the  city  over  which  I  am  set." 

"  You  lie  !"  cried  John.  "  You  are  here  to  betray  us." 
And  he  struck  him  dead  with  a  blow  of  his  axe. 

After  a  time  the  English  let  King  John  go,  on  his  prom- 
ise that  he  would  pay  a  ransom  of  three  million  crowns. 
But  he  could  not  raise  the  money,  and,  like  a  man  of  honor 
as  he  was,  he  returned  to  his  prison  in  London — it  was 
a  very  comfortable  prison — where  he  lived  sumptuously. 
There  he  died  and  was  buried  in  St.  Paul's  Cathedral.  At 
his  funeral  four  thousand  torches,  each  twelve  feet  high, 
and  as  many  tapers  lighted  the  corpse  to  the  grave.  It 
was  the  least  the  English  could  do  after  keeping  him  pris- 
oner for  so  many  years. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

BERTRAND   DUGUESCLIN 

A.D.  1364-1380 

THE  next  king  is  called  in  history  Charles  the  Wise  ;  his 
proper  title  is  Charles  the  Fifth.  One  of  his  arms  was 
crippled,  and  he  was  weak,  so  that  he  could  neither  hold 
a  lance  nor  sit  a  horse.  It  had  been  said  of  him  that 
he  could  not  live  long,  as  he  had  been  poisoned  in  his 
youth,  and  the  French  grumbled  when  he  came  to  the 
throne.  But  you  may  perhaps  think,  when  you  hear  his 
story,  that  he  may  have  served  France  better  than  a  fight- 
ing king  would  have  done. 

He  kept  much  at  home  ;  used  to  sit  in  his  study  in  his 
palace  and  think  all  the  time.  He  rose  early,  listened  to 
all  who  called,  walked  in  his  gardens,  and  meditated  and 
planned,  while  his  band  played  music  and  his  courtiers 
chatted.  He  had  enough  to  think  about.  His  kingdom 
was  overrun  by  three  pests,  each  of  which  seemed  worse 
than  the  others ;  these  were  the  followers  of  the  King  of 
Navarre,  the  English,  and  the  soldier-bandits.  He  saw 
that,  before  anything  could  be  done,  these  three  must  be 
conquered  ;  and  he  looked  about  for  a  man  who  could 
conquer  them.  The  man  for  the  job  he  found  in  Bertrand 
Duguesclin. 

This  was  a  soldier  from  the  northwest  corner  of  France, 
which  was  called  Brittany.  He  was  nearly  fifty  years  old, 
with  a  short  figure,  flat  nose,  green  eyes,  broad  shoulders, 
and  long  arms.  He  was  a  fighter  born.  When  he  was 
only  a  common  man-at-arms,  a  sorceress  named  Tiphaine 
had  foretold  that  he  would  become  a  valiant  knight,  where- 
upon he  married  her  by  way  of  reward  for  her  bright 


CHURCH   AT  ST.  DENY8 

augury.  King  Charles  sent  for  him,  and  asked  him  if  he 
could  rid  the  kingdom  of  the  Navarrese. 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Duguesclin,  and  he  marched  forth  at  the 
head  of  his  Bretons  and  inflicted  on  the  Navarrese  such  a 
terrible  beating  that  they  gave  no  more  trouble  in  that 
reign. 

Then  said  the  king,  "  Suppose  you  try  to  rid  me  of  the 
English  next." 

This  was  not  so  easy.  The  English  had  a  large  army 
and  an  able  soldier — Sir  John  Chandos — at  its  head.  Du- 
guesclin gave  him  battle,  but  was  defeated  and  made  pris- 
oner. After  a  time  he  was  ransomed,  set  at  the  head  of 
another  army,  and  went  at  it  again.  This  time  he  gath- 
ered into  his  army  most  of  the  soldier-bandits  of  whom 
King  Charles  was  as  anxious  to  get  rid  of  as  the  English  ; 
thus,  like  a  wise  general,  intending  to  use  one  set  of  ene- 
mies to  destroy  the  other.  But  again  fortune  was  against 
him — he  was  beaten  and  taken  prisoner. 

This  time  the  English  had  learned  to  fear  him  so  much 
that  they  did  not  want  to  let  him  go  for  any  ransom.  He 


1364-1380]  133 

taunted  them,  saying  that  they  must  be  terribly  afraid  of 
him  if  they  dared  not  set  him  free  for  money,  as  the  cus- 
tom of  that  day  was.  This  wounded  their  pride,  and  they 
grudgingly  agreed  to  accept  a  ransom  ;  then,  piqued  in 
their  honor,  Sir  John  Chandos  and  the  Black  Prince  offered 
to  lend  him  half  the  money.  He  thanked  them,  but  raised 
it  elsewhere,  and  once  more  got  the  command  of  an  army. 
Xow  luck  turned.  Sir  John  Chandos  died,  and  soon  after- 
ward the  Black  Prince,  who  had  disgraced  himself  by 
sacking  the  town  of  Limoges,  and  putting  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  in  it  to  death,  went  home  and  died  also. 
There  was  no  one  left  in  the  English  army  who  could  hold 
his  own  against  Duguesclin,  and  he  pushed  the  English 
back  to  the  sea,  regaining  all  the  rich  country  between 
the  Loire  and  the  Gironde,  which  the  English  had  held, 
and  much  more  territory  besides. 

Many  of  the  soldier-bandits  had  been  killed  in  his  bat- 
tles with  the  English.  Others  Duguesclin  persuaded  to 
go  into  Spain  under  the  pretence  of  joining  a  crusade 
against  the  Moors.  Thus  he  nearly  cleared  France  of  the 
most  abominable  vermin  that  had  ever  infested  the  coun- 
try, and  for  the  first  time  in  many  years  the  poor  peasants 
could  till  their  farms  in  peace. 

This  was  the  work  of  Duguesclin.  The  king  made  him 
Constable  of  France  and  loaded  him  with  riches.  But  he 
did  not  live  to  enjoy  them.  He  was  taken  ill  on  a  march 
and  died  at  the  age  of  sixty-six.  When  he  felt  death  near, 
he  raised  himself  on  his  couch  and  kissed  his  sword,  say- 
ing to  his  nearest  friend, 

"  To  you  I  commit  it.  I  have  never  betrayed  the  king's 
trust." 

And,  turning  to  the  soldiers  round  him,  he  added, 

"  Forget  not,  whenever  you  may  be  fighting,  that  priests, 
women,  and  children  are  not  your  enemies." 

They  buried  him  at  St.  Denys,  by  the  side  of  the  kings 
of  France. 

Two  months   afterward   his  friend  the  king  followed. 


134 


[1364-13SO 


him  to  the  grave.  By  wise  management  he  had  not  only 
made  France  peaceful,  but  had  got  together  large  sums  of 
money,  which  he  spent  in  building  grand  palaces,  with 
fine  libraries  and  splendid  galleries.  He  was  generous  to 
the  poor  and  lived  in  his  palace  as  became  a  king.  His 
sideboard  was  loaded  with  gold  plate.  He  had  married  a 
good  woman,  Jeanne  of  Bourbon,  who  set  an  example  of 
gentleness  and  modesty  to  the  ladies  of  her  court.  It  may 
give  you  some  idea  of  the  manners  of  that  day  if  you  read 
her  rules  of  behavior,  as  put  into  verse  by  a  poet  of  her 
court.  He  said  to  the  ladies: 

"  Do  not  be  slovenly  in  your  dress,  nor  put  your  fingers 
in  the  dish  at  table,  nor  blow  your  nose  with  the  table- 
cloth. Do  not  rush  into  a  room,  but  before  you  open  the 


IKTERIOR  OF  CHURCH  AT  BT.  DENTS 

door  give  a  gentle  cough.  Walk  slowly  to  church,  and 
do  not  run  or  jump  in  the  streets.  Those  of  you  who 
cannot  read  must  learn  the  hymns  at  home,  so  as  to  keep 
pace  with  the  priests.  Do  not  steal.  Do  not  tell  lies." 


CHAPTER   XXIII 
A   MAD   KING 
A.D.    1380-1422 

WHILE  Charles  the  Fifth  was  dying,  his  brother,  the 
Duke  of  Anjou,  hid  in  a  room  near  the  bed-chamber,  and 
as  soon  as  the  king's  death  was  announced  stole  the  jew- 
els and  plate.  With  his  plunder  he  went  off  to  Naples, 
whose  queen,  in  dying,  had  made  him  her  heir.  Two  other 
brothers,  the  dukes  of  Bourbon  and  Berry,  did  not  care  to 
take  either  jewels  or  risks  ;  they  remained  quiet,  so  the 
guardianship  of  the  son  and  heir  of  Charles  the  Fifth,  who 
was  then  a  boy  of  twelve,  fell  to  his  other  uncle,  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy. 

By  way  of  training  the  boy,  who  was  gentle  and  timid, 
the  duke  took  him  to  a  battle-field  in  Flanders,  where  the 
French  had  just  defeated  the  Flemings  with  a  loss  of  eight 
thousand  men,  and  made  him  walk  his  horse  over  the  dead 
bodies  which  lay  in  heaps.  I  dare  say  the  brutal  lesson 
did  not  help  to  strengthen  a  mind  which  was  never  very 
strong.  At  sixteen  Charles  was  married  to  a  Bavarian 
princess  named  Isabeau,  who  was  fourteen,  and  after  the 
marriage  there  was  a  triumphal  entry  into  Paris,  at  which 
the  finest  festival  ever  seen  was  held.  The  common  peo- 
ple were  dressed  in  green,  the  gentlemen  in  rose  color,  the 
ladies  in  scarlet  with  gold  belts  ;  fountains  ran  with  wine, 
milk,  and  rose-water.  As  the  queeri  entered  the  St.  Denys 
gate,  two  girls,  dressed  as  angels,  were  lowered  down  by 
ropes,  and  asked  her,  with  feigned  surprise,  if  she  hadn't 
come  from  Paradise?  Then  followed  a  dance  which  last- 
ed three  days  and  three  nights.  If  this  sort  of  thing  could 
only  have  lasted,  little  Isabeau  might  indeed  have  fancied 
herself  in  Paradise. 


136  [1380-1422 

But  it  did  not  last.  At  a  masked  ball  the  young  king 
and  four  of  his  gentlemen  disguised  themselves  as  savages 
in  cloth  tights  smeared  with  pitch,  on  which  a  thick  lay- 
er of  tow  was  stuck.  The  four  gentlemen  were  tied  to- 
gether. Some  careless  guest  held  a  lighted  candle  to  the 
dress  of  one  of  them,  and  the  tow  caught  fire.  In  an  in- 


ISABKAU   OF   BAVARIA 

stant  all  four  were  ablaze.  One  of  them  saved  his  life  by 
leaping  into  a  water-butt.  The  other  three  were  burned 
to  death  after  agonies  untold.  The  king  was  saved  ;  his 
young  aunt  seized  him,  wrapped  her  skirt  round  him,  and 
held  him  tight  till  the  fire  was  put  out.  But  the  shock  was 
terrible. 

Then  he  fell  ill  of  a  fever  and  was  very  slow  to  recover. 


1380-1422]  137 

When  he  got  a  little  better  he  took  the  lead  of  a  body  of 
men  to  hunt  a  villain  who  had  tried  to  murder  his  consta- 
ble. It  was  the  middle  of  summer ;  the  sun's  rays  were 
scorching.  He  was  riding  through  a  sandy  plain,  where 
there  was  no  shade.  On  his  head  he  wore  a  scarlet  velvet 
hood.  He  was  dozing  in  the  saddle,  when  a  man  ran  up 
to  him,  seized  his  bridle,  and  shouted, 

"  King,  go  no  further.     You  are  betrayed." 

The  madman,  for  such  he  must  have  been,  made  his  es- 
cape when  the  king's  followers  came  up,  but  Charles,  sud- 
denly starting  in  his  saddle,  drew  his  sword  and,  crying 
"  Forward  !  Death  to  the  traitors !"  fell  upon  his  servants 
and  pages  and  killed  four  of  them  before  he  could  be  dis- 
armed. They  took  him  back  to  Paris  and  found  that  he 
was  hopelessly  mad. 

There  were  no  doctors  who  could  help  him.  He  was 
sprinkled  with  holy  water,  made  to  confess,  the  commun- 
ion was  given  him,  but  he  got  no  better.  He  said  his  name 
was  George,  that  he  had  no  wife.  Quacks  came  from  dis- 
tant parts  and  tried  all  kinds  of  medicines  ;  one  of  them 
made  him  drink  water  in  which  pearls  had  been  dissolved. 
But  it  did  no  good.  Then  the  doctors  stopped  trying  to 
cure  him  and  endeavored  to  amuse  him,  which  was  the 
most  sensible  thing  they  could  do.  Playing-cards,  such  as 
are  used  to-day,  were  invented  to  divert  him,  and  his  queen, 
Isabeau,  and  the  ladies  of  his  court  took  turns  in  playing 
with  him.  Sometimes  he  would  be  well  enough  to  talk 
quite  rationally;  but  the  lucid  intervals  did  not  last  long, 
and  he  would  soon  relapse  into  sombre  melancholy,  when 
he  would  cry  and  moan  that  he  was  in  such  pain,  and 
would  nobody  relieve  him  ? 

Meanwhile  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  the  king's  brother,  and 
the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  his  uncle,  strove  for  the  mastery 
in  France.  Now  one  was  up  and  the  other  was  down ; 
and  whichever  was  down,  and  whichever  was  up,  the 
people  had  to  pay  taxes  which  enraged  them.  The  priests 
were  on  the  side  of  the  Puke  of  Burgundy,  and  refused 


138 


[1380-1422 


to  open  the  churches  when  the  Orleans  party  were  in  con- 
trol. 

On  the  22d  of  November,  1407,  the  Duke  of  Burgundy, 
whose  name  was  Fearless  John,  and 
the  Duke  Louis  of  Orleans  supped 
together,  kissed  each  other,  hung 
on  each  other's  neck,  and  swore 
eternal  friendship.  Such  love  and 
affection  had  never  been  seen  be- 
fore. On  the  following  evening, 
as  Louis  was  going  home  at  about 
eight,  with  only  a  few  attendants, 
he  was  waylaid,  in  the  Rue  du 
Temple,  by  seven  or  eight  men, 
masked  and  with  red  hoods  on, 
who  fell  upon  him  with  axes  and 
swords  and  maces.  He  was 
heard  to  cry,  "  What's  this  ? 
What's  this  ?"  To  which  his  mur- 
derers answered,  "  Die  !  Die  !" 

After  a  moment  the  chief  of 
them  ordered, 

"  Out  with  your  torches ;  he  is 
dead  enough." 

And  one  of  them  striking  him 
a  heavy  blow  on  the  head  with  a 

mace  to  make  sure,  they  all  ran  away,  leaving  the  body  in 
the  street. 

John  the  Fearless  was  not  ashamed  of  his  bloody  deed. 
On  the  next  day  he  said, 

"  What  has  been  done  has  been  done  by  my  orders." 
And  he  made  haste  to  Burgundy,  whence  he  returned  to 
Paris  with  an  army  and  compelled  the  poor  mad  king  to 
give  him  a  pardon.     The  priests  preached  sermons  declar- 
ing that  the  murder  was  just,  because  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
was  God's  enemy. 
Then  actual  war  broke  out  between  the  two  factions. 


DUKE   OF    BUHGUNDY 


1380-1422]  130 

The  old  Orleans  party  took  the  name  of  Armagnacs,  from 
their  leader,  the  Count  of  Armagnac  ;  they  threatened  the 
city  of  Paris,  which,  in  its  old  way,  organized  an  army  of 
its  own  for  its  own  protection,  with  a  butcher,  a  surgeon, 
and  an  executioner  at  its  head.  Neither  the  butcher  nor 
the  surgeon,  nor  even  the  executioner,  however,  could  pre- 
vent the  Armagnacs  from  getting  possession  of  the  place. 
They  held  it  for  a  long  time,  and  when  the  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy sent  a  monk  in  to  spy  out  the  defences,  the  Ar- 
magnacs put  him  in  a  niche  in  a  wall  and  walled  him  in. 
Then  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  was  declared  a  rebel,  and  his 
French  estates  were  confiscated. 

Three  years  afterward  the  keys  of  the  city  were  stolen 
by  a  friend  of  the  duke's  ;  the  gates  were  opened  one  dark 
night,  a  Burgundian  army  poured  in,  and  the  Count  of  Ar- 
magnac and  all  his  followers  were  massacred.  The  count's 
body  lay  three  days  in  the  streets,  and  was  kicked  about 
by  the  Bui'gundians.  So  now  Burgundy  was  up  and  Ar- 
magnac down. 

This  did  not  last  long.  Fearless  John  made  an  appoint- 
ment to  meet  the  dauphin  on  a  bridge.  When  the  duke 
appeared,  a  servant  of  the  dauphin's  bade  him  advance, 
as  his  master  was  waiting  for  him  ;  he  stepped  into  a  side- 
gallery  on  the  bridge  and  was  instantly  killed.  So  now 
Burgundy  was  down,  and  down  to  stay  for  the  present. 

During  all  the  time  these  two  factions  had  been  fight- 
ing, the  King  of  England,  whose  name  was  Henry  the  Fifth, 
had  been  conquering  France  bit  by  bit.  The  French 
met  him  in  battle  at  a  place  called  Agincourt,  but  once 
more  they  were  so  badly  led  that  their  knights  and  heavy 
men-at-arms,  with  the  heavy  armor  which  they  wore  and 
which  their  horses  wore,  were  placed  in  a  newly  ploughed 
and  marshy  field.  When  the  order  came  to  move,  they 
could  not  move.  They  were  mired.  The  horses  had  sunk 
in  the  soft  earth  up  to  their  knees,  and  partly  from  this 
reason  the  French  were  completely  vanquished.  After  the 
battle  the  savage  King  of  England  cut  the  throats  of  his 
prisoners,  refusing  to  admit  them  to  ransom. 


140  [1380-1422 

He  was  then  master  of  so  much  of  France  that  he  thought 
he  might  just  as  well  claim  the  whole  ;  and  indeed,  so  far 
as  the  French  peasants  and  common  people  were  concerned, 
it  was  quite  possible  that  he  might  be  an  improvement  on 
the  mad  king  and  the  factions.  He  married  the  mad  king's 
daughter  Katharine,  and  in  December,  1420,  entered  Paris, 
with  the  young  Duke  of  Burgundy  in  deep  mourning  on 
one  side  and  the  mad  king  on  the  other.  He  became  in 
name  and  in  fact  King  of  France,  and  Paris  was  so  broken- 
hearted by  the  long  struggles  it  had  gone  through  that  it 
had  not  a  word  to  say  by  way  of  protest.  The  priests 
turned  out  in  procession  to  meet  the  foreigner,  offered  him 
their  relics  to  kiss,  and  performed  high  mass  for  him  at 
Notre  Dame. 

lie  was  not  very  cheerful  himself.  He  had  a  presenti- 
ment that  he  would  not  long  reign  over  two  kingdoms. 
Eighteen  months  after  his  entry  into  Paris  he  died  of  a 
fever,  and  two  months  afterward  the  mad  king  also  died. 
The  French  were  much  touched  at  his  death.  Living,  they 
had  thought  little  of  the  poor  king,  because  of  his  infirmity; 
but  when  he  was  dead  they  wept  over  his  grave. 


JOAN    OF    AUC 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

JOAN   OF   ARC 
A.D. 1429-1431 

AFTER  mad  Charles  died  there  were  two  claimants  for 
the  throne  of  France :  his  son  Charles,  who  had  been  known 
as  the  Dauphin  ;  and  a  baby,  who  was  the  son  of  Henry  the 
Fifth  of  England  and  Katharine  of  France,  the  mad  king's 
daughter.  Charles  was  a  puny  youth  with  thin  legs,  who 


142  [1429-1431 

was  so  awkward  that  people  laughed  at  him,  and  so  poor 
that  he  could  not  pay  for  a  pair  of  boots.  The  French, 
however,  stood  by  him,  while  the  English  took  the  side  of 
the  baby.  Charles's  friends  held  the  city  of  Orleans,  and 
there  the  English  besieged  them.  The  siege  lasted  seven 
months  without  much  gain  on  either  side,  though  the  be- 
siegers from  their  towers  threw  stones  weighing  two  hun- 
dred pounds  into  the  place,  and  the  French  inside  fired  at 
the  towers  cannon-balls  which  sometimes  hit  their  mark. 
If  nothing  unusual  had  happened  this  game  of  ball  might 
have  lasted  a  long  time,  but  a  new  face  was  put  on  affairs 
by  a  most  surprising  event. 

In  the  village  of  Domremy  on  the  river  Meuse,  in  Lor- 
raine, there  lived  a  farmer  by  the  name  of  Arc,  or  Arcques, 
who  had  a  daughter  of  nineteen,  named  Joan.  She  tended 
sheep  in  lonely  pastures,  and  at  evening-time  loved  to  pray 
before  a  statue  of  the  Virgin  in  the  dimly  lit  village 
church.  Both  in  the  church  and  in  the  pastures  she  moped 
and  brooded  over  the  wrongs  of  her  country,  and  she  often 
fancied,  as  people  do  when  they  are  low-spirited  or  when 
they  have  fever,  that  angels  came  down  to  her,  and  that 
she  could  hear  their  voices.  You  must  remember  that  in 
those  parts  of  France  people  were  very  ignorant  and  very 
superstitious.  One  day  she  fancied  that  an  angel  told  her 
to  go  and  help  the  king  drive  the  English  out  of  France, 
and  she  had  so  worked  herself  up  by  praying  and  fasting 
and  brooding  that  she  felt  that  she  must  do  as  the  angel 
ordered.  Though  she  was  only  a  girl,  and  could  neither 
read  nor  write,  she  believed  that  she  would  not  have  been 
called  if  there  had  not  been  a  chance  that  she  would  be  of 
use. 

So  she  left  her  home,  and  with  an  uncle  who  was  a 
wheelwright  trudged  over  poor  country  roads,  through 
woods  and  over  hills,  to  a  friend  of  the  king's,  to  whom 
she  told  her  story.  He  said  she  was  a  witch  and  had  her 
forthwith  sprinkled  with  holy  water.  But  as  she  said  the 
same  things  after  she  had  been  sprinkled  as  before,  he  be- 


1429-1431]  143 

gan  to  be  afraid  of  her.  He  gave  her  a  horse  and  a  sword 
and  two  squires  to  lead  her  to  where  the  king  was.  She 
asked  the  voices  what  clothes  she  should  wear,  and  they 
said  "  Man's  clothes,  of  course."  So  she  put  them  on,  boots 
and  spurs  and  all,  and  rode  off. 

The  king  received  her  in  a  hall  which  was  lit  by  forty 
torches  and  filled  with  barons,  and  knights,  and  bishops, 
and  priests.  They  questioned  her,  and  cross -questioned 
her,  and  set  traps  to  catch  her ;  but  she  answered  all  their 
questions  in  a  low,  sweet  voice,  telling  her  story  in  so  sim- 
ple and  truthful  a  way  that  she  quite  confounded  them. 
Some  were  induced  to  think  that  she  was  a  sorceress,  and 
that  the  best  thing  to  do  with  her  was  to  burn  her;  but 
by  this  time  her  story  had  got  wind,  and  the  common  peo- 
ple took  her  side  so  hotly  that  there  would  have  been  trou. 
ble  if  any  one  had  tried  to  burn  her  then. 

As  for  the  king,  he  took  her  part.  Her  sweet  face  and 
gentle  ways  pleased  him  very  much  indeed.  He  gave  her 
a  suit  of  white  armor,  set  her  on  a  prancing  white  horse, 
ordered  a  page  to  carry  her  battle-flag,  on  which  there  was 
a  picture  of  God,  and  armed  her  with  a  battle-axe,  which 
she  hung  at  her  saddle-bow.  Thus  accoutred,  she  set  out 
for  Orleans  ;  and  there  she  put  such  new  heart  into  the  be- 
sieged French  that  they  fell  upon  the  English,  and  in  ten 
days  drove  them  away  howling.  Joan  led  the  garrison, 
and  though  she  was  too  tender-hearted  to  hurt  any  one, 
her  battle-flag  was  always  in  the  front  of  the  fight.  Twice 
she  was  wounded.  Once,  an  archer  shot  an  arrow  into  her 
neck,  and  the  point  came  out  behind.  And  once,  one  of 
those  great  stones  which  the  English  hurled  with  their 
machines  struck  her  on  the  head  and  knocked  her  sense- 
less. But  when  the  arrow  was  pulled  out,  and  the  bruise 
on  her  head  was  dressed,  she  mounted  her  white  horse  and 
rode  to  the  front  in  her  old  bold  way. 

When  the  English  marched  away  she  was  known  every- 
where as  the  Maid  of  Orleans,  and  the  common  people  be- 
gan to  worship  and  adore  her,  She  even  persuaded  that 


144  [1429-1431 

poor-spirited  creature  the  king  to  go  to  Rheims  and  get 
crowned. 

The  English  declared  that  it  would  never  do  to  be  beaten 
out  of  France  by  a  girl.  England  was  governed  at  the 
time  by  a  priest — Cardinal  Beaufort,  Bishop  of  Winchester. 
He  sent  word  to  his  armies  in  France  that,  cost  what  it 
might,  the  Maid  of  Orleans  must  be  captured.  It  was 
easier  to  say  this  than  to  do  it.  Joan  kept  on  riding  at 
the  head  of  the  French,  in  her  shining  armor,  on  her  white 
horse,  and  wherever  she  went  the  English  made  haste  to 
get  out  of  the  way.  They  made  an  alliance  with  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy,  and  he  sent  an  army  to  help  them,  but  Joan 
beat  the  Burgundians  as  she  had  beaten  the  English. 
Among  the  priests  and  the  nobles  there  were  still  some 
who  held  her  for  a  witch,  and  in  a  sly  way  sprinkled  her 
with  holy  water  whenever  her  back  was  turned.  But  the 
French  people  trusted  her,  witch  or  no  witch. 

One  dark  day,  as  she  was  besieging  the  town  of  Com- 
piegne,  her  men-at-arms  took  fright  and  ran  away,  leaving 
her  alone,  whereupon  a  Burgundian  archer  threw  her  from 
her  horse  and  made  her  his  prisoner.  A  roar  of  joy  rose 
from  the  troops  over  the  capture  of  this  young  girl.  The 
man  who  took  her  sold  her  to  John  of  Luxembourg  ;  he 
sold  her  to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy;  he  sold  her  to  the 
English. 

"  Now,"  said  Cardinal  Beaufort,  Bishop  of  Winchester, 
with  set  teeth  and  an  ugly  flash  in  his  eye,  "  I  don't  think 
Joan  of  Arc  will  give  me  any  more  trouble." 

They  put  the  poor  girl  in  irons  and  dragged  her  to  Rouen, 
which  was  in  possession  of  the  English,  to  stand  her  trial 
for  sorcery.  As  you  know,  the  only  sorcery  she  had  been 
guilty  of  was  putting  fresh  heart  into  the  down-spirited 
people  of  France.  But  a  court  was  summoned,  with  the 
Bishop  of  Beauvais  at  its  head,  a  vicar  of  the  Inquisition 
at  his  side,  and  a  score  of  priests  to  sit  as  judges — all  of 
them  sworn  to  do  the  dirty  work  of  Cardinal  Beaufort, 
Bishop  of  Winchester, 


JOAN   OF   ARC   IN  BATTLE 


Before  this  court,  for  sixteen  days,  Joan  had  to  appear, 
and  to  answer  all  kinds  of  cruel  and  absurd  questions.  She 
was  sick  and  broken  down.  Every  night  the  poor  girl  was 
taken  to  her  cell  in  the  dungeon,  where  she  was  made  to 
sleep  with  double  chains  around  her  limbs.  Her  feet  were 
fastened  to  a  chain  at  the  foot  of  her  bed,  and,  to  keep  her 
straight,  her  body  was  tied  to  an  iron  beam.  Here  tor- 
turers visited  her  and  warned  her  that  she  would  probably 
be  put  to  the  torture  on  the  day  following.  She  was  not, 

but  she  suffered  the  agonies  of  torture  in  expectation.    She 
10 


146  [1429-1431 

had  no  friends,  no  advisers ;  the  mean  King  of  France 
never  stirred  hand  nor  spoke  word  to  save  her. 

The  trial  had  begun  on  the  21st  of  February,  1431.  On 
May  31,  at  eight  in  the  morning,  she  was  taken  out  of  her 
prison  and  placed  in  a  cart  with  a  confessor  by  her  side. 
Eight  hundred  English  soldiers,  with  swords  drawn  and 
lances  in  rest,  escorted  the  cart.  Ten  thousand  people  lined 
the  streets  through  which  it  passed.  The  cart  stopped  at 
the  fish-market,  in  which  three  platforms  had  been  built. 
One  was  for  Cardinal  Beaufort.  Another  was  for  the  judges 
and  the  prisoner.  On  the  third  was  a  tall  stake;  its  base 
was  hidden  by  a  pile  of  firewood.  When  Joan  had  taken 
her  place  a  priest  preached  a  sermon  on  her  wickedness, 
and  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais  urged  her  to  repent.  A  silence 
fell  ;  it  was  thought  the  doomed  girl  might  say  something. 
She  was  on  her  knees.  As  death  drew  near  she  was,  like 
other  girls,  very  much  afraid,  and  cried  and  sobbed.  She 
would  have  clasped  her  poor  hands,  but  they  were  bound. 
She  feebly  murmured,  "  Good  people,  pray  for  me  !" 

No  one  who  was  present — neither  the  brutal  judges  nor 
the  savage  cardinal  himself — could  keep  back  his  tears ; 
as  for  the  people,  they  broke  out  in  sobs  and  groans. 

But  a  soldier  called  to  the  priest  who  stood  by  Joan, 

"  What's  this,  priest  ?  do  you  mean  us  to  dine  here  ?" 

And  two  men-at-arms  seized  the  Maid,  dragged  her  to 
the  stake,  and  roughly  bade  the  executioner  do  his  duty. 
She  bowed  her  head,  her  lips  were  seen  to  move  as  in  prayer, 
the  flames  rose,  she  gave  one  shriek — "  Jesus !" — and  all  was 
over. 

If  you  go  to  Rouen  you  may  see,  under  the  long  shadow 
of  the  old  cathedral  tower,  a  statue  of  Joan  of  Arc,  erected 
on  the  square  where  she  was  burned.  And  so  long  as  the 
town  of  Domremy  remained  in  the  possession  of  the  French 
it  was  a  law  of  the  French  army  that  no  regiment  should 
march  through  it  without  presenting  arms  and  having  its 
band  play  a  requiem. 

The  English — who  were  a  very  different  people  then 


THE   CATHEDRAL,  AT   ROUEN 


from  the  English  of  to-day—fancied  that'  the  death  of  Joan 
of  Arc  would  remove  their  most  dangerous  enemy.  But  it 
did  not  help  them  much.  The  baby  king  never  reigned  in 


148  [1429-1481 

France,  though  he  was  once  crowned,  and  after  Joan's  death 
the  English  lost  ground  year  by  year  in  France,  till  they 
were  elbowed  to  the  very  sea-coast. 

Charles  the  Seventh  was  king  in  name  if  not  in  fact  for 
nearly  forty  years.  But  he  was  so  helpless  a  creature  that 
in  all  that  time  he  did  nothing  by  which  you  can  remem- 
ber him.  For  twenty  years  he  was  ruled  by  a  beautiful  and 
gentle  lady  named  Agnes  Sorel,  who  seems  always  to  have 
advised  him  wisely  ;  she  died  very  suddenly,  probably  from 
poison  given  through  the  arts  of  the  dauphin,  who  became 
Louis  the  Eleventh.  His  sister  Katharine,  who  had  been 
the  wife  of  King  Henry  the  Fifth  of  England,  married  a 
Welshman  named  Owen  Tudor  after  Henry's  death ;  and 
his  mother  turned  out  very  badly  after  she  lost  her  mad 
husband.  When  her  little  grandson,  English  Henry,  was 
brought  to  Paris  to  be  crowned,  the  grandmother  stood  at 
a  window  as  the  boy  passed  and  burst  into  tears ;  but  the 
stern  cardinal  who  had  Henry  in  charge  would  not  let  him 
see  her.  She  died  very  poor,  without  a  friend  to  give  her 
a  cup  of  water  on  her  death-bed. 


LOUIS    XI 


CHAPTER   XXV 

LOUIS   THE   ELEVENTH 

A.D. 1461-1483 

ABOUT  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth  century  the  most 
splendid  court  in  Europe  was  that  of  the  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy. He  was  a  greater  man  than  the  King  of  France 
himself.  He  not  only  ruled  over  Burgundy,  but  his  power 
was  felt  all  through  Holland,  Flanders,  Alsace,  and  Lor- 
raine, and  the  country  which  lies  between  modern  France 
and  Germany,  from  the  mouth  of  the  Rhine  to  the  rich 
slopes  in  which  the  blue  Rhone  begins  its  flow.  Some 
places  had  sovereigns  of  their  own.  Liege  was  ruled  by 
bishops,  who  were  terrible  fighters  ;  and  the  lord  of  a 
large  territory  was  a  fierce  baron,  whose  name  was  Will- 
iam de  la  Marck,  but  who  was  generally  called  the  Wild 
Boar  of  the  Ardennes.  But  they  all  bowed  to  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy. 

He  held  his  court  at  Brussels,  and  there  he  gathered 
around  him  the  most  learned  scholars  and  the  most  gallant 
soldiers  of  the  day  ;  to  attract  them  he  created  an  order 
pf  the  Golden  Fleece,  which  was  more  thought  of  than  any 


150  [1461-1483 

other  order  in  Christendom.  He  gave  fetes  more  magnifi- 
cent than  any  that  had  ever  been  seen  before.  They  were 
sometimes  banquets,  at  which  every  side  dish  was  a  group 
of  people.  One  contained  twenty-four  musicians,  each  play- 
ing on  his  own  instrument — I  hope  the  guests  did  not  eat 
them.  Another  was  a  church  with  towers  and  bells,  and 
bell-ringers  who  called  good  people  to  mass  ;  it  was  big 
enough  for  grown  people  to  go  inside  and  kneel  at  the 
altars.  Another  was  an  elephant  held  by  a  Saracen  giant; 
on  its  back  was  a  tower,  and  in  the  tower  was  a  nun  weep- 
ing for  the  capture  of  Constantinople  by  the  Turks. 

Then,  there  were  out-of-door  sports  :  tournaments  at 
which  knights  in  armor  charged  furiously  with  lance  in 
rest  and  tumbled  each  other  into  the  dust,  while  lovely 
ladies  clapped  their  hands  and  threw  their  rings,  their 
brooches,  their  ear-rings,  and  even  their  back  combs,  to 
their  own  true  knights  ;  and  pretty  dances  on  the  green, 
in  which  twelve  girls  in  crimson  satin  figured  as  the  virt- 
ues and  danced  with  twelve  gentlemen,  who  I  suppose 
must  have  represented  the  twelve  vices. 

Better  than  all  these,  the  Dukea  of  Burgundy  had  begnn 
a  library.  The  art  of  printing  had  just  been  discovered, 
and  books  were  growing  more  plentiful  than  they  had 
been  ;  still,  there  were  few  places  where  so  many  of  them 
had  been  gathered  together  as  there  were  in  the  library  of 
the  Duke  of  Burgundy.  To  that  library  Louis,  the  son  of 
King  Charles  of  France,  had,  some  time  before  his  father's 
death,  betaken  himself,  in  order,  as  he  said,  to  read  good 
books.  He  had  no  money,  but  the  Duke  of  Burgundy 
made  him  an  allowance.  His  father,  who  knew  his  son 
well,  grinned  when  he  heard  of  it  and  said, 

"My  brother  Burgundy  has  let  in  a  pretty  fox  among 
his  chickens." 

When  Charles  the  Seventh  died,  the  Duke  of  Burgundy 
insisted  on  crowning  Louis  at  Rheims.  The  contrast  be- 
tween the  two  was  strange.  The  duke  came  with  a  pro- 
cession which  was  led  by  a  hundred  and  fifty  magnificent 


14C1-1483]  151 

wagons,  drawn  by  powerful  horses  with  silver  bells  on 
their  necks  and  embroidered  velvet  housings  on  their 
backs  ;  in  the  wagons  were  gold  and  silver  plate  and 
money  to  be  scattered  among  the  poor.  Then  followed 
a  string  of  fat  Burgundian  nobles  buried  in  jewels.  Then, 
with  pages  and  archers  around  him,  his  tall  form  mounted 
on  a  prancing  war-horse,  rode  the  duke;  the  tail  of  the  pro- 
cession was  a  drove  of  fat  oxen  and  sheep  for  the  feast. 

The  King  of  France  had  no  procession.  He  was  dressed 
in  a  coarse  gray  gown,  with  a  rosary  around  his  neck,  and 
an  old  hat,  in  the  band  of  which  there  was  a  leaden  image 
of  a  saint.  In  this  guise  he  went  to  be  crowned,  and  after 
the  coronation  he  and  the  duke  went  together  to  Paris. 
The  Parisians  observed  to  each  other  what  a  mean  figure 
the  king  cut,  and  how  much  more  grand  the  duke  was. 

To  celebrate  the  coronation,  a  splendid  tournament  was 
given,  at  which  the  bravest  knights  rode,  and  charged  each 
other,  in  the  hope  of  winning  the  crown  of  victory  from 
the  hands  of  the  exquisite  queen  of  love  and  beauty.  King 
Louis  refused  to  ride  ;  but  he  sent  a  knight  to  take  his 
place,  in  mean,  shabby  armor,  but  mounted  on  a  very  pow- 
erful horse.  No  one  knew  who  he  was.  But  when  he  had 
overthrown  all  the  knights,  one  after  another,  he  was  made 
to  raise  his  visor,  and  it  appeared  that  he  was  a  groom  in 
the  king's  stables.  The  nobles  did  not  easily  forgive  the 
king  for  the  slight  he  had  put  on  them. 

But  if  Louis  was  not  fine  to  look  at,  nor  considerate  of 
the  delicate  feelings  of  his  nobles,  he  soon  showed  that  he 
knew  his  trade  of  king.  He  found  out  that  the  nobles  had 
not  paid  their  taxes  for  many  years ;  he  laid  hands  on  their 
property  to  pay  himself.  He  discovered  that  by  an  under- 
standing with  the  pope  they  appointed  the  bishops  and 
high  officers  of  the  Church  ;  he  took  that  business  into  his 
own  hands.  Of  course  this  enraged  the  feudal  lords  and 
the  churchmen  too,  but  Louis  kept  such  close  watch  on 
them  that  they  could  not  stir  without  his  knowing  it.  His 
plan  was  to  set  one  feudal  lord  against  another,  and  egg 


152  [1461-1483 

them  on  to  a  fight ;  while  they  were  fighting  the  king  took 
their  towns.  lie  was  not  fond  of  fighting  himself.  He  was 
once  induced  to  go  to  war,  chiefly  through  the  advice  of  a 
Cardinal  Balue ;  but  he  was  beaten,  and  he  revenged  him- 
self against  the  cardinal  by  locking  him  up  in  an  iron  cage 
and  keeping  him  there  for  eleven  years. 

It  was  during  that  war  that  he  had  the  narrowest  escape 
of  his  life.  He  went  to  see  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  the  son 
of  the  old  duke  who  had  been  at  his  coronation.  They 
hated  each  other,  and  both  knew  it.  Louis,  fearful  of  being 
murdered,  begged  to  be  lodged  in  the  castle  of  Peronne. 
When  he  went  in  the  door  was  locked  on  him,  and  there 
he  was  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  his  worst  enemy.  He 
was  terribly  frightened.  When  the  duke  visited  him  and 
asked  him  if  he  would  help  capture  the  town  of  Liege,  which 
had  revolted,  and  which  Louis  had  solemnly  vowed  to  suc- 
cor in  its  revolt,  the  treacherous  king  replied, 

"  With  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  !" 

They  went,  the  duke  and  the  king  together,  to  Liege, 
which  was  counting  confidently  on  the  help  which  the  king 
had  promised.  The  place  was  soon  taken.  Then  said  the 
duke, "  What  would  you  do  with  Liege  if  it  were  yours  ?" 

Said  the  king,  smiling,  "  My  father  had  a  tree  near  his 
palace  in  which  ravens  had  built  nests,  and  at  night  their 
croaking  disturbed  him.  He  had  the  nests  destroyed,  but 
the  ravens  built  them  again  and  again.  Then  he  had  the 
tree  rooted  up,  and  he  slept  better  afterward." 

The  duke  took  the  hint.  Every  building  in  Liege  was 
burned  but  the  churches.  The  people  were  drowned  and 
burned,  or  shot,  or  driven  into  the  woods  to  perish  of  cold 
and  hunger.  And  I  suppose  the  duke  slept  better  after- 
ward. 

But  Louis  was  not  the  man  to  forget  his  little  adventure 
in  the  castle  of  Peronne.  He  arranged  a  meeting  between 
the  King  of  England  and  himself.  You  may  fancy  how  the 
kings  trusted  each  other  when  you  learn  that  at  this  meet- 
ing the  two  were  separated  by  a  lattice  -  work  through 


1461-1483]  153 

which  they  talked,  but  which  was  too  close  to  let  a  man's 
arm  through.  Here,  through  the  lattice,  a  treaty  was  made 
by  which  for  a  large  sum  of  money  the  King  of  England 
agreed  to  prevent  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  from  invading 
France.  Shortly  after  that  the  duke  made  war  on  Rene, 
the  Duke  of  Lorraine,  one  of  his  vassals.  Louis  helped 
Rene  with  money.  A  battle  was  fought.  After  the  battle 
the  Duke  of  Burgundy  could  not  be  found.  It  was  not  till 
two  days  afterward  that  his  body  was  discovered,  naked 
and  frozen,  partly  hidden  by  the  snow,  and  gnawed  by  dogs 
and  wolves.  Perhaps  he  understood  before  he  died  what 
he  had  made  the  poor  people  of  Liege  suffer.  At  any  rate, 
King  Louis  understood  how  he  had  come  by  his  end. 

One  by  one  Louis  managed  to  get  all  his  enemies  among 
the  feudal  lords  out  of  the  way.  To  the  Constable  St.  Pol, 
one  of  the  greatest  of  them,  Louis  wrote  that  grave  ques- 
tions were  pending  at  Paris  in  which  his  head  would  be  of 
the  greatest  service.  St.  Pol  came,  and  his  head  did  serve, 
for  Louis  cut  it  off.  The  Duke  of  Nemours  was  shut  up 
in  an  iron  cage  and  was  only  taken  out  to  be  tortured  and 
beheaded.  Louis  called  on  the  Count  of  Armagnac  and 
had  him  killed  in  his  wife's  presence.  Another  duke  he 
sent  to  a  prison  for  life.  He  was  so  suspicious  of  every 
one  that  one  day  he  took  the  Duke  of  Nemours  out  of  his 
iron  cage  and,  having  put  him  to  the  torture,  asked  him  the 
question, 

"  Whom  can  I  trust  among  the  nobles  of  my  court  ?" 

The  agonized  man  caught  his  breath  and  gasped, 

"  No  one,  sire  ;  not  one." 

He  lived  a  wretched  life,  as  you  may  suppose.  Toward 
the  last  he  shut  himself  up  in  a  castle  at  Plessis  les  Tours, 
which  he  made  exceedingly  strong,  and  garrisoned  with 
Scotchmen.  When  he  ventured  out  of  the  sight  of  the 
sentinels  he  trembled  all  over.  When  he  took  exercise  he 
was  accompanied  by  his  barber,  Oliver  Daim,  and  his  exe- 
cutioner, Tristan  l'Ermite,who  carried  a  hangman's  rope  in 
bis  pocket  and  of  teu  hanged  people  to  the  branches  of  trees 


154  [1461-1483 

without  a  trial  when  their  behavior  or  their  speech  roused 
the  king's  suspicions.  All  three  made  jokes  while  the  hang- 
ing was  going  on — coarse,  poor  jokes,  such  as  you  might 
expect  from  vile,  brutal  natures.  When  the  Parisians  saw 
the  king  with  his  two  friends  they  ran  away  ;  women 
caught  up  their  children  and  hid  them. 

lie  was  always  short  of  money — he  spent  so  much  in 
bribing  feudal  lords  and  kings,  and  in  hiring  spies  to  find 
out  what  was  going  on  and  what  people  were  saying  of 
him.  He  would  never  pay  his  servants  their  wages  ;  when 
he  was  in  good  humor  they  coaxed  him  to  give  them  a 
bishopric  or  an  abbey  or  a  rich  wife  ;  when  no  such 
chance  offered  they  stole,  and  when  the  king  found  it 
out  he  made  them  divide.  He  spent  little  on  himself. 
To  the  day  of  his  death  he  wore,  when  he  went  out,  an 
old  coarse  gray  gown  and  broken  hat  like  those  in  which 
he  figured  at  his  coronation.  He  said  he  could  not  afford 
to  buy  new  clothes.  But  when  he  received  envoys  from 
foreign  countries  he  wore  a  rich  robe  of  crimson  satin 
trimmed  with  fur. 

He  was  very  pious  and  never  did  anything  without 
praying.  In  his  youth  he  carried  in  the  band  of  his  hat  a 
leaden  image  of  a  favorite  saint  ;  in  his  old  age  he  wore 
saints  all  round  his  hat,  and  when  prayers  to  one  of  them 
were  not  answered  he  tried  the  others  in  turn.  He  was 
greatly  given  to  praying  to  the  Virgin  Mary,  whom  he 
appointed  Countess  of  Boulogne,  a  place  he  much  liked. 

He  had  no  friends.  His  wife  was  dead.  His  son  he 
hated.  When  his  daughter  and  her  husband  visited  him, 
Oliver  Daim  and  Tristan  PErmite  followed  them  about 
on  tiptoe,  suspecting  them  of  a  design  to  kill  the  king. 
His  only  pleasure  through  life,  besides  lying  and  cheating, 
was  hunting.  A  year  or  two  before  his  death  he  had  a 
stroke  of  paralysis,  which  prevented  him  from  mounting  his 
horse.  He  then  had  little  dogs  trained  to  hunt  mice,  and 
the  lame  old  man  spent  many  an  hour  hopping  round  his 
room  with  these  dogs,  chasing  mice  which  scampered 


1461-1483]  155 

from  corner  to  corner,  vainly  looking  for  a  hole  to  creep 
into. 

He  was  terribly  afraid  of  dying.  And  as  he  grew 
worse  after  his  second  stroke  of  paralysis,  he  sent  to  all 
parts  of  Europe  for  astrologers  and  physicians  and  had 
prayers  said  for  him  by  the  bishops  and  the  most  pious 
men  in  France,  but  he  could  not  help  seeing  that  his  body 
was  dying  by  inches.  On  August  the  23d,  1483,  he  had  a 
third  stroke,  and  he  died  five  days  afterward.  He  had 
begged  his  attendants  to  warn  him  of  the  end,  but  to  do 
it  gently.  When  they  saw  that  there  was  nothing  more 
to  be  feared  from  him,  they  shouted  the  truth  in  his  ear. 

When  you  come  to  read  larger  histories  of  France  than 
this,  you"  will  find  that  Louis  the  Eleventh  is  much  thought 
of  because  he  broke  down  the  power  of  the  feudal  lords 
and  made  France  larger  than  it  had  ever  been  before. 
This  was  a  good  work,  and  he  deserves  all  the  credit  of  it. 
But  he  was  false,  treacherous,  deceitful,  and  cruel,  and,  as 
I  think  that  falsehood,  treachery,  deceit,  and  cruelty  are 
as  disgraceful  in  a  king  as  in  a  common  man,  I  do  not  see 
how  you  can  give  him  your  respect  or  affection. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE    GREAT    LADY 
A.D.  1483-1498 

Louis  THE  ELEVENTH  left  three  children  :  Anne  of 
Beanjeu,  his  eldest,  who  was  twenty-two,  and  who  was  after- 
ward known  as  the  Great  Lady  ;  Joan,  who  was  nineteen, 
and  was  married  to  Louis,  Duke  of  Orleans  ;  and  Charles, 
who  was  thirteen.  By  Louis's  will  Charles  was  to  succeed 
him  as  king,  and  his  sister  Anne  was  to  be  regent. 

This  arrangement  suited  all  parties  except  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  who  thought  he  should  have  been  regent  instead 
of  Anne.  He  stirred  up  the  people  of  Brittany — as  though 
it  mattered  to  them  who  was  Regent  of  France — and  they 
took  the  field  against  Anne.  But  she  had  not  been  called 
the  Great  Lady  for  nothing.  She  gathered  an  army  under 
a  gallant  soldier  named  La  Tremouille,  swooped  down 
upon  the  Bretons  and  their  allies  at  a  place  near  Rennes, 
and  utterly  discomfited  them.  She  took  her  brother-in- 
law,  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  prisoner,  and  put  him  in  prison, 
locking  him  up  at  night  for  greater  safety  in  an  iron 
cage. 

In  that  prison  he  pined  and  languished.  His  wife  Joan, 
who  was  loving  and  true,  though  she  was  ugly  and  de- 
formed, never  ceased  to  beg  his  release  from  her  sister 
Anne  and  her  brother  Charles,  but  in  vain.  He  was  at 
times  so  neglected  that  this  faithful  wife  had  to  sell  her 
jewels  to  get  him  food  and  clothes  in  his  jail.  Anne,  the 
Great  Lady,  was  unrelenting  ;  she  would  not  answer  Joan's 
letters  nor  allow  her  to  enter  her  presence.  But  Charles 
had  soft  moments,  and  in  one  of  these,  Joan  begging  him 
on  her  knees  with  many  tears  to  let  her  husband  go,  he 


1483-1498]  157 

took  horse,  drew  rein  at  the  prison  door,  set  Louis  free, 
and  fell  upon  his  neck,  kissing  and  hugging  him  as  the 
custom  of  that  day  was. 

I  think  you  can  figure  to  yourself  the  dark  cloud  which 
settled  on  the  Great  Lady's  face  when  she  heard  of  this 
freak  of  her  brother's.  She  said  nothing,  but  she  thought 
to  herself  that  it  was  time  to  get  Charles  married,  so  that 
he  should  have  some  one  to  look  after  him. 

He  was  nineteen  years  old.  Years  before  he  had  been 
betrothed  to  Marguerite  of  Austria,  who  was  now  a  little 
girl  eleven  years  old  and  at  school.  But  the  Great  Lady 
had  a  much  better  match  for  him  in  her  eye.  The  duchy 
of  Brittany,  one  of  the  richest  of  the  old  feudal  duchies, 
had  fallen  to  a  girl — Anne  of  Brittany,  who  was  sixteen 
years  old.  She  was  pretty  in  face,  but  short,  and  lame  in 
one  foot,  and  though  she  tried  to  hide  her  lameness  by 
wearing  a  high  heel  on  the  lame  foot,  it  was  easily  noticed. 
But  she  had  plenty  of  spirit,  was  bright  and  self-willed, 
and,  being  Lady  of  Brittany,  she  had  suitors  in  swarms, 
from  old  widowers,  with  large  families  and  pimply  noses, 
to  young  gallants,  with  long  swords  and  short  purses. 
Among  these  she  chose  Maximilian  of  Austria,  who  was 
a  giant,  a  good  scholar,  and  a  valiant  soldier.  She  was  be- 
trothed to  him,  as  Charles  had  been  to  Marguerite,  and 
in  those  days,  as  you  know,  a  betrothal  was  almost  the 
same  thing  as  a  marriage. 

The  Great  Lady  perceived  that  a  marriage  between 
Charles  and  Anne  would  in  fact  be  a  union  between 
France  and  Brittany,  and  she  sent  an  envoy  to  Anne  to 
find  out  her  mind. 

Anne  replied  that  she  was  betrothed  to  Maximilian  and 
rather  liked  what  she  had  heard  of  him — she  had  never 
seen  him  ;  she  rather  thought  that  she  would  like  to  be  a 
giant's  wife. 

Thereupon  the  Great  Lady  invaded  Brittany.  You  may 
think  this  a  curious  way  of  making  love,  but  it  was  the 
way  of  the  time,  and  Anne  understood  it.  For,  Charles 


158 


[1483-1498 


being  with  the  French  army  and  Anne  with  the  Breton 
army,  a  meeting  was  arranged  between  them  ;  and  the 
end  of  that  meeting  was  that  they  were  engaged  on  the 
spot  and  were  married  shortly  afterward,  the  pope  having 
agreed  to  annul  the  betrothals.  Anne  must  have  thought 
more  of  her  people  than  of  herself,  for  Charles  was  not 
a  beauty.  He  was  short  and  clumsy,  with  a  big  head, 
fishy  eyes,  fat  lips  which  slobbered,  a  hooked  nose,  and  a 
nervous  twitching  of  eyelids  and  cheeks.  To  add  to  all, 
he  could  not  read  or  write. 

Such  as  he  was,  he  now  resolved  to  make  the  world  hear 
of  him,  and,  without  reason,  provocation,  or  pretext,  in 


CHAKLES  VIII.  CKOSSING  THE  ALPS 

October,  1494,  he  crossed  the  Alps  at  the  head  of  an  army 
and  invaded  Italy,  marching  from  Savoy  to  Naples.  The 
Italians  were  so  astonished  that  no  one  thought  of  resistance. 
On  New  Year's  Eve,  just  as  night  fell,  the  French,  lighting 
thc-ir  torches  as  they  went,  marched  up  the  main  street  of 
Rome,  establishing  guard  stations,  setting  up  gibbets  to 


1483-1498]  159 

hang  knaves  on,  and  planting  tents  in  the  squares  ;  while 
King  Charles,  in  full  armor,  with  his  lance  in  rest,  rode  at 
the  head  of  his  body-guard,  with  trumpets  sounding  and 
drums  beating  all  around  him.  The  pope,  who  must  have 
thought  that  Charles  was  out  of  his  mind,  sent  word  that 
he  was  very  glad  to  see  him,  and  would  he  please  to  call  at 
the  Vatican  and  pay  his  respects  ? 

From  Rome  Charles  went  to  Naples,  and,  it  chancing  to 
occur  to  him  that  sooner  or  later  the  Italians  might  object 
to  being  invaded  in  this  way,  he  divided  his  army  into  two 
parts,  leaving  one  at  Naples,  where  it  speedily  melted 
away  from  hunger  and  disease,  and  taking  with  himself 
the  other,  which,  after  a  smart  battle  near  Milan,  managed 
to  cross  the  Alps  again,  and  get  home. 

After  this  Charles  considered  himself  a  great  conqueror, 
like  Caesar  or  Alexander  the  Great,  and  the  French  said 
that  they  were  quite  of  the  opinion  that  he  was.  Fetes 
were  given  in  his  honor,  at  which  the  shows  were  more 
splendid,  the  dresses  more  gorgeous,  the  dancing  more 
graceful,  and  the  merry-making  more  vociferous  than  any- 
thing that  had  been  seen  before  in  France.  To  amuse  the 
queen  plays  were  got  up  under  the  direction  of  an  officer 
who  was  called  the  King  of  the  Fools,  and  who  arranged 
spectacles  which  must  have  been  like  Christmas  pantomimes 
you  see  at  the  theatres  at  this  day.  King  and  queen,- 
courtiers  and  soldiers,  did  nothing  all  day  but  dance,  sing, 
and  frolic  in  these  revels.  France  was  fairly  quiet.  The 
old  robber  bands  had  been  crushed  out.  Farmers  ploughed 
their  fields  in  safety.  People  were  not  in  much  danger  if 
they  neither  stole  nor  killed.  The  gay  nation  was  really 
gay.  For  the  Great  Lady,  while  king  and  queen  frolicked, 
gave  the  people  a  good  and  just  government. 

All  was  thus  going  well  when  the  king,  walking  through 
an  unfinished  corridor  in  a  palace  he  was  building  at  Am- 
boise,  struck  his  head  against  a  beam.  He  did  not  at  first 
notice  that  he  had  hurt  himself,  but  went  on  talking  and 
watching  a  game  of  tennis.  Presently  he  staggered  and 


CHATEAU  D  AMBOISE 

fell.  A  mattress  was  brought ;  he  was  laid  on  it.  They 
dared  not  move  him  ;  and  on  that  mattress,  in  that  dark 
and  dirty  corridor,  with  shavings  and  chips  all  around  him, 
he  died  three  hours  afterward. 

This  was  in  April,  1 498.  Just  four  months  afterward  the 
great  sailor  Columbus  first  set  foot  on  the  continent  of 
America.  He  had  landed  on  several  of  the  islands  of  the 
West  Indies  six  years  before.  But  it  was  not  till  August 
2,  1498,  that  he  discovered  the  mainland. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
LOUIS    THE    TWELFTH 
.    A.D.  1498-1515 

CHARLES  THE  EIGHTH  left  no  children  ;  he  was  succeed- 
ed on  the  throne  by  that  Louis  of  Orleans  whom  the  Great 
Lady  had  kept  so  long  in  jail,  and  who  was  the  husband  of 
ugly  Joan.  lie  is  known  as  Louis  the  Twelfth.  You  will 
be  sorry  to  hear  that  his  first  act  was  to  turn  against  the 
wife  who  had  been  so  loyal  to  him  in  the  days  of  his  trouble. 

In  order  to  make  it  certain  that  Brittany  would  remain 
part  of  France,  he  got  the  pope  to  divorce  him  from  his 
faithful  Joan  ;  then  he  married  Charles's  widow,  Anne. 
It  broke  Joan's  heart.  She  said  meekly  to  her  husband, 
"  I  hope,  sire,  that  you  will  be  happier  with  another  than 
you  have  been  with  me."  And  then  she  shut  herself  up  in 
a  convent,  and  devoted  the  rest  of  her  life  to  good  works. 

Like  Charles,  Louis  made  war  on  Italy,  though  there  was 
no  reason  for  the  war,  and  neither  side  could  gain  anything 
by  it,  while  it  was  sure  to  cause  infinite  distress  and  misery 
to  the  Italians,  and  was  likely  to  end — as  it  did — in  the 
French  being  driven  home  in  defeat  and  disgrace.  The 
French  were,  I  think  wrong-headed,  and  crazy  for  con- 
quest and  adventure,  while  the  Italians  were  always  fight- 
ing among  themselves. 

There  was  a  duke  of  Milan  whose  name  was  Ludovico 
Sforza,  but  who  was  generally  called  the  Blackamoor,  be- 
cause of  his  swarthy  skin.  He  invited  the  French  into 
Italy  in  order  to  overthrow  the  King  of  Naples.  When  he 
had  got  them  in  he  turned  against  them  and  would  not  let 
them  out.  Him  the  King  of  France,  with  the  help  of  val- 
iant captains  of  whom  I  will  presently  tell  you,  hotly  pur- 
l1 


162  [1498-1516 

sued  and  at  last  caught,  though  he  had  tried  to  hide  among 
the  Swiss  guards,  wearing  his  hair  in  a  coif,  putting  on  a 
crimson  satin  doublet  and  scarlet  stockings,  and  holding  a 
halberd  in  his  fist.  The  Blackamoor  was  locked  in  a  dun- 
geon thirty  feet  under  ground  in  the  grim  old  castle  of 
Loches  ;  the  \valls  of  the  dungeon  were  eight  feet  thick  ; 
through  one  barred  window  a  thin  ray  of  light  crept  in, 
and  by  leaning  his  ear  to  this  window  the  prisoner  could 
hear  the  shouts  and  the  laughter  of  the  courtiers  as  they 
jousted  outside.  In  that  castle,  after  many  years'  confine- 
ment, the  Blackamoor  died. 

One  of  the  most  valiant  of  the  French  generals  was  a 
nephew  of  King  Louis — a  boy  of  twenty-three,  whose  name 
was  Gaston  of  Foix.  He  was  a  born  soldier,  handsome, 
gallant,  and  one  who  never  knew  fear  or  pity.  On  Easter 
Sunday  morning,  in  the  year  1512,  as  he  walked  on  the 
bank  of  a  stream,  he  met  a  party  of  Spaniards  who  had 
crossed  into  Italy  to  help  the  Italians. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "I  am  going  to  cross  that  stream 
to-day,  and  I  will  not  recross  it  alive  unless  I  win  the  day." 

He  went  back  to  his  tent  and  put  on  his  finest  clothes 
and  his  most  splendid  armor.  But  he  had  vowed  to  his 
fair  lady — a  curious  person  she  must  have  been — that  he 
would  bathe  his  arm  to  the  elbow  in  the  blood  of  his  ene- 
mies, and  he  cut  off  his  right  sleeve  at  the  elbow.  He  did 
win  the  day,  but  on  his  way  to  his  tent  he  was  beset  and 
stabbed  to  death.  In  his  beautiful  face  there  were  fifteen 
s  word- thrusts. 

A  still  more  glorious  hero  of  these  days  was  the  Cheva- 
lier Bayard,  "  fearless  and  blameless."  He  started  for  the 
wars  when  he  was  only  fourteen  ;  he  bestrode  a  little  roan 
pony  and  wore  a  suit  of  satin  and  velvet,  in  the  pocket  of 
which  was  a  purse  containing  six  dollars.  At  the  siege  of 
Milan  he  pursued  the  enemy  so  hotly  that  he  was  taken 
prisoner  and  brought  before  the  Blackamoor  Duke  of 
whom  I  have  told  you.  Said  Blackamoor,  "  Whom  have 
we  here  ?" 


1493-1515] 


163 


An,d  when  the  boy  explained  how  he  had  been  taken, 
the  duke,  pleased  with  his  manly  speech  and  his  open  face, 
asked  him  what  he  would  like? 

"  My  horse  and  my  arms,"  answered  Bayard,  "  so  I  can 
get  back  to  my  master  the  King  of  France." 

"Sir  Captain,"  said  Blackamoor  to  one  of  his  men,  "let 
his  horse  and  his  arms  be  found." 

And  he  sent  him  back  to  his  master,  observing,  "If  all 
the  men-at-arms  in  France  were  like  him,  I  should  have  a 
bad  chance." 

At  the  siege  of  Brescia,  Bayard  was  grievously  wounded  ; 
he  turned  to  his  men  and  snid, 


U  BAYAKD   DEFENDING   A   BRIDGE 


164  [1498-1515 

"March  on,  comrades.  As  for  me,  I  cannot  pull  farther, 
for  I  am  a  dead  man." 

They  took  him  to  a  house  where  a  woman  lived  with  two 
daughters.  Her  husband  had  fled  when  the  soldiers  drew 
near,  and  her  daughters  had  hidden  under  the  hay  in  the 
garret.  When  the  woman  saw  how  badly  Bayard  was 
wounded,  she  bade  the  archers  who  bore  him  carry  him 
into  her  best  room,  so  she  could  nurse  him. 

"All  that  is  in  this  house  is  yours  by  right  of  war,"  said 
she  ;  "  may  it  be  your  pleasure  to  spare  my  honor  and  my 
life,  and  those  of  my  two  young  daughters." 

"  Madame,"  said  the  young  soldier,  "  I  know  not  whether 
I  am  to  live  or  die.  But  so  long  as  I  live,  your  daughters 
and  you  shall  be  safe.  If  any  come  to  this  house  to  trouble 
you,  say  that  I — the  Chevalier  Bayard — lie  here  wounded." 

In  five  or  six  weeks  he  was  well  enough  to  get  on  his 
horse,  and  then  the  woman  who  had  nursed  him  expected 
that  he  would  demand  ransom,  as  the  custom  of  that  day 
was.  So,  falling  on  her  knees  before  him,  with  many  tears 
and  thanks  for  his  gentle  behavior,  she  offered  him  twenty- 
five  hundred  gold  ducats  in  a  steel  box.  But  he  only 
laughed  and  bade  her  fetch  her  daughters.  The  girls 
came  in,  pale  and  trembling,  for  those  were  rough  times. 
The  eldest  said, 

"  My  lord,  we  two  poor  girls,  whom  you  have  done  the 
honor  to  guard,  are  come  to  take  leave  of  you,  to  thank 
you,  and,  having  nothing  else  in  their  power,  to  say  that 
they  will  be  forever  bound  to  pray  for  you." 

To  which  he  answered, 

"  It  is  for  me  to  thank  you.  Fighting-men  are  not  laden 
with  pretty  things  to  present  to  ladies.  But  your  lady 
mother  has  given  me  two  thousand  five  hundred  ducats  : 
here  is  one  thousand  for  each  of  you,  and  five  hundred 
which  I  entreat  your  mother  to  give  to  the  poor.  Only  I 
beg  you  all  to  pray  God  for  me." 

And  with  that  he  poured  the  gold  into  their  aprons. 

When  his  wound  closed  he  returned  to  the  army  and. 


CHEVALIER  BAYARD 

fought  wherever  the  enemy  was  met.  He  was  the  bravest 
soldier  the  king  had,  and  he  was  generous  and  merciful. 
When  he  found  that  the  people  of  a  village  had  been  driv- 
en into  a  cave,  and  two  soldiers  of  his  army  had  piled  hay, 
straw,  and  wood  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave  and  stifled  them, 
he  caught  the  rascals,  one  of  whom  had  but  one  ear  while 
the  other  had  none  at  all,  and  hanged  them  at  the  entrance. 
He  met  his  death  like  a.  soldier.  He  was  shot  while 


166  [1498-1515 

crossing  the  Alps.  When  lie  felt  the  wound,  he  knew  that 
it  was  mortal.  He  bade  his  men  set  him  against  a  tree, 
with  his  face  to  the  enemy.  He  confessed  to  a  priest ;  then, 
to  one  who  pitied  him,  he  said,  "I  need  no  pity.  I  die  the 
death  of  a  man  of  honor." 

And  so  indeed  he  did. 

But  all  his  honor  and  all  his  valor  could  not  help  the 
French  to  conquer  Italy.  After  the  bad  Pope  Alexander 
the  Sixth  there  came  a  fighting  pope,  Julius  the  Second, 
who,  when  he  was  eighty  years  old,  went  out  in  his  papal 
robes  and  pointed  the  cannon  with  his  own  hands.  And 
then  there  came  a  very  Avise  pope,  Leo  the  Tenth,  who 
made  alliances  with  the  princes  all  round  him  against  the 
French,  and  in  the  end  Louis  had  to  creep  back  to  France 
no  better  off  than  when  he  began.  He  made  a  bargain  with 
Ferdinand  of  Spain,  but  was  cheated,  and  when  he  com- 
plained that  he  had  been  deceived  the  Spaniard  answered, 

"  The  King  of  France  is  complaining  that  I  have  de- 
ceived him  twice  ;  he  lies  ;  I  have  deceived  him  more  than 
ten  times." 

Louis  had  a  little  daughter  whose  name  was  Claude. 
He  l>etrothed  her  to  Charles  of  Austria,  who  was  the  son 
of  a  crazy  daughter  of  this  Ferdinand,  named  Juana.  The 
betrothal  took  place  at  Blois.  Crazy  Juana,  with  her  hus- 
band Philip,  arrived  at  Blois  at  night,  and  climbed  up  the 
steep  road  to  the  castle  by  the  light  of  torches  of  yellow 
wax  fixed  against  the  walls.  Philip  went  first,  between 
files  of  archers,  to  a  room  in  which  Louis  was  sitting  by 
the  chimney.  Then  came  crazy  Juana,  whom  Louis  kissed 
and  sent  to  his  wife's  apartments.  The  queen  received  her 
warmly,  and  Juana  kissed  her,  and  also  as  many  of  her 
ladies  of  honor  as  she  could.  Then  the  Spaniard  was  put 
to  bed  in  her  own  room,  where  she  was  visited  by  six  pages, 
bearing  lights,  and  half  a  dozen  ladies,  bearing  gold  boxes 
full  of  sweetmeats,  which  were  poured  on  the  bed.  At  the 
door  stood  an  apothecary  to  physic  the  strange  lady  in 
case  she  needed  physicking,  as  perhaps  she  might  after  so 


•     ' '— 


PORTAL  OP  THE  CHATEAU  DES  BLOIS 


much  candy.    And  after  all,  the  betrothal  came  to  nothing. 
Claude  married  her  cousin  Francis. 

It  was  soon  after  this  that  Queen  Anne  died.  Louis  was 
deeply  distressed;  she  had  been  a  good  wife  and  a  wise 
adviser.  But  it  was  decided  that  in  order  to  insure  the 
French  alliance  with  England,  he  must  marry  the  sister  of 
the  King  of  England.  She  was  a  pretty  young  girl  of  six- 
teen, who  was  already  betrothed  to  one  man  and  in  love 


MONUMENT  TO  CHEVALIER  BAYARD 

with  another.  Louis  was  a  tall,  thin  man  of  fifty,  who 
lived  on  boiled  beef,  took  no  pleasure  in  anything  but 
hawking,  was  often  ill,  slouched  in  his  gait,  and  went  to 
bed  when  the  sun  went  down.  Still,  the  marriage  took 
place.  Louis  only  lived  four  months  afterward. 

Barring  his  foolish  war  with  Italy,  Louis  the  Twelfth 
was  a  good  king,  as  kings  went.  He  made  a  number  of 
excellent  laws,  maintained  order,  and  promoted  trade  and 
industry.  It  is  said  that  in  his  reign  there  were  fifty  pros- 


1498-1515]  169 

perous  traders  for  one  who  could  have  been  found  in  the 
reign  of  Louis  the  Eleventh.  Travel  was  pretty  safe,  and 
public  inns — which  had  come  into  use  a  few  years  before 
his  time — were  fairly  good.  Robbers  were  hunted  down 
and  severely  punished.  The  people  did  not  complain  of 
being  too  heavily  taxed. 

The  credit  of  most  of  the  good  deeds  of  his  reign  belongs 
to  a  wise  priest  who  was  his  chief  counsellor — Cardinal 
Amboise.  He  was  one  of  the  ablest  men  of  his  day,  and 
one  of  the  best  and  purest  priests  who  had  ever  held 
power  in  France. 


FEJLNCIS   I  .   FKOM   A  COIN 


CHAFTEE   XXVIII 

FRANCIS    THE  FIRST 

A.D.  151&-1M7 

FRAKCIS  THE  FEEST,  who  succeeded  Louis  tbe  Twelfth, 
was  his  cousin  and  had  married  his  daughter.  He  was  a 
handsome,  dashing  vouns  man  of  twentv-one  when  he  came 

•—    •  • 

to  the  French  throne.  As  he  grew  older  his  face  became 
gross  and  sensual.  Louis  the  Twelfth,  who  knew  him  well, 
had  warned  his  courtiers  that  when  that  big  boy  came  to 
the  throne  he  would  spoil  everything. 

His  first  business  was  with  Italy.  The  Italians  were 
fighting  among  themselves.  Milan  was  fighting  with  Ven- 
ice, Genoa  was  fighting  with  Naples,  Florence  was  fighting 
with  Pisa,  the  pope  and  Spain  were  fighting  with  them  all; 
and  besides  this,  in  many  of  tbe  towns  the  people  were 
fighting  against  their  mlers,  and  the  rulers  were  hiring 
Swiss  and  Germans  to  fight  against  their  subjects.  Such 
horrible  confusion  prevailed  that  from  various  places  came 
invitations  to  Francis  to  take  a  hand  in  the  fight  on  one 
side  or  another. 

It  wa*  jost  the  work  he  liked.    And  when  he  swooped 


1515-1547]  171 

down  on  northern  Italy  with  an  army  of  sixty  thousand 
men  and  won  a  great  battle  at  Mariemano.  scattering  the 

c?  O*O 

SwisH  mercenaries,  and  sending  them  home  ragged,  wound- 
ed, with  flags  torn  and  bleeding  feet,  he  felt  very  proud 
indeed.  The  French,  too,  were  proud  of  him  at  first;  but 
when  they  found  that  he  increased  the  taxes  and  spent 
their  money  like  water  on  his  own  pleasures  they  were  not 
quite  as  proud  as  before.  They  found  that  he  thought  a 
great  deal  more  of  himself  than  of  them.  He  spent  his 
time  in  hunting  and  jousting  and  banqueting  in  castles  on 
the  Loire;  when  a  Frenchman  wanted  to  see  him  on  busi- 
ness, he  could  not  tell  where  to  find  him. 

To  gain  the  favor  of  the  King  of  England  Francis  in- 
vited him  to  France,  and  the  two  moriarchs  met  at  a  place 
since  known  as  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold.  Each  tried 
to  outdo  the  other  in  splendor.  Cardinal  Wolsey,  who 
was  the  minister  of  the  King  of  England  and  looked  like 
a  king  himself,  appeared  with  a  train  a  mile  long,  of  mail- 
clad  rnen-at-arms  and  gayly  dressed  courtiers  on  prancing 
steeds  and  snow-white  mules,  all  covered  with  silver  har- 
ness ;  the  Constable  Bourbon,  who  carried  the  sword  of 
France  before  Francis,  looked  even  more  like  a  king,  and 
bore  himself  so  haughtily  that  Henry  observed  to  Francis, 
"  If  I  had  a  subject  like  that,  his  head  would  not  be  long 
on  his  shoulders."  In  order  to  cut  a  fine  figure  some  of 
the  French  nobles  made  themselves  poor  for  life. 

The  two  kings  slowly  rode  to  the  place  of  meeting,  and 
when  they  met  flung  their  arms  round  each  other's  neck, 
and  embraced  from  their  saddles. 

Next  day,  to  show  his  confidence,  Francis  called  on  Eng- 
lish Henry  before  he  was  up  and  put  his  shirt  on  for  him. 
Then  the  two  kings  went  out  to  a  tournament.  At  either 
end  of  the  grounds  were  artificial  trees  made  of  cloth  of 
gold,  with  leaves  of  green  silk  ;  along  the  sides  were  pavil- 
ions, tapestried  with  the  most  precious  silks,  satins,  and 
embroidered  cloths.  Then  followed  tourneys,  in  which 
Francis  showed  more  grace  than  the  Englishman;  archery 


172  [1515-1547 

contests,  in  which  the  English  had  the  best  of  it ;  and 
wrestling-matches,  in  one  of  which  Francis  threw  Henry 
more  heavily  than  he  liked.  The  two  kings  exchanged 
chains  and  tried  to  exchange  coats,  but  Henry  was  so  fat 
that  Francis's  coat  would  not  button  around  him.  This  and 
the  wrestling -match  rather  displeased  the  Englishman, 
and  the  kings  parted  without  liking  each  other  any  the  bet- 
ter for  the  meeting. 

To  console  himself  Francis  invaded  Italy  again,  and  this 
time,  having  a  great  soldier,  the  Emperor  Charles  the  Fifth, 
against  him,  the  King  of  France  came  to  grief.  The  time 
he  should  have  given  to  preparing  for  battle  he  had  spent  on 
building  a  luxurious  palace  at  Como,  and  the  money  which 
should  have  gone  to  his  troops  he  had  wasted  on  his  pleas- 
ures. The  battle  was  fought  at  Pavia,  and  was  so  hot  that 
somebody  who  looked  on  said  that  he  could  see  nothing  but 
heads  and  arms  flying  in  the  air.  Francis  was  completely 
beaten  and  taken  prisoner.  His  army  was  destroyed.  Some 
died  of  hunger,  some  of  sickness,  some  sold  their  horses 
and  clothes  for  food  and  got  back  to  France  so  worn  out 
by  hunger,  thirst,  and  cold  that  when  they  were  taken  in 
and  warmed  and  fed,  they  died  or  went  mad  from  the  reac- 
tion. From  that  time  to  the  days  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte, 
the  French  never  troubled  Italy  again. 

When  Francis  was  taken,  he  wrote  to  his  mother  that  all 
was  lost  but  honor.  You  may,  perhaps,  be  inclined  to  think 
that  by  that  time  Francis  had  but  little  honor  to  lose. 

He  was  taken  a  prisoner  to  Spain,  and  was  only  released 
on  condition  that  he  should  marry  the  emperor's  sister — 
his  own  wife,  whom  he  had  treated  shamefully,  having 
died — and  should  surrender  certain  territories  to  the  em- 
peror. He  married  the  lady.  But  before  he  left  his  prison 
he  made  a  secret  declaration  before  a  notary  that  he  did 
not  intend  to  carry  out  the  rest  of  his  bargain.  He  said 
he  was  a  prisoner  and  not  free  to  make  a  treaty.  From 
which  you  may  conclude  that  wherever  he  lost  his  honor, 
it  was  most  certainly  lost. 


1515-1547]  1*73 

He  reigned  twenty  j^ears  longer,  and  during  that  period 
he  carried  on  four  more  wars  with  the  Emperor  Charles, 
in  which  neither  side  won  much  advantage.  Between  the 
wars,  the  two  monarchs  pretended  to  love  each  other  like 
brothers.  Once,  Charles  asked  leave  of  Francis  to  cross 
France  to  go  to  Ghent,  where  a  rebellion  bad  broken  out. 
When  the  king's  fool  heard  of  it,  he  made  out  a  list  of 
fools  with  the  emperor's  name  at  the  head.  The  king,  see- 


FRAXCIS  I 


174  [1515-1547 

iinr  the  list,  asked  the  fool,  "  How  if  I  should  let  the  era- 

c*  '  ' 

peror  go  through?" 

"  Then,"  replied  the  fool,  "  I  should  strike  out  the  em- 
peror's name  and  put  yours  in  its  place." 

Francis  let  the  emperor  through,  for  all  that. 

These  wars,  and  the  vast  sums  which  the  king  wasted 
on  his  pleasures,  brought  back  the  old  troubles  to  the 
French  people.  The  peasants  could  not  till  their  fields 
properly  ;  every  penny  workingrnen  made  was  eaten  by 
tax-gatherers;  the  crops  were  short,  and  the  poor  people 
lived  on  bread  made  of  acorns  and  soup  made  of  weeds. 
The  women  grew  thin  and  pale,  and  the  voice  of  children 
crying  from  hunger  was  heard  all  over  the  country.  Vast 
numbers  of  women  and  children  died  of  cold  and  famine. 

.But  the  king  had  always  money  for  new  palaces,  fine 
bronzes,  pictures,  and  musical  instruments  ;  for  jewels  of 
gold,  diamonds,  and  pearls  ;  for  velvets  and  silk  from 
Genoa  ;  for  beasts  and  birds,  camels,  ostriches,  and  lions 
from  Africa  ;  for  a  clever  card-player  from  Spain  ;  for  a 
horse  for  the  royal  cook,  so  that  he  could  always  be  on 
hand  for  the  king's  dinner  ;  for  the  beautiful  ladies  of  the 
court,  with  whom  Francis  spent  his  time  and  on  whom  he 
lavished  presents.  He  did  not  care  much  for  his  hungry 
people,  but  he  cared  a  great  deal  for  show.  He  wrote  pret- 
ty verses  himself,  and  he  helped  others  who  wrote,  as  well 
as  those  who  built  fine  buildings  or  carved  fine  statues. 
It  is  the  fashion  to  call  his  era  the  period  of  the  Renaissance, 
which  means  that  art  and  letters  were  then  born  again  ; 
and  perhaps  he  had  something  to  do  with  the  birth.  But 
it  was  much  more  largely  due  to  a  waking  of  the  public 
mind  from  a  sleep  which  had  lasted  a  thousand  years, 
and  that  waking  was  seen  more  plainly  in  religion  than 
in  anything  else. 

For  a  long  time  good  Christians  had  been  dissatisfied 
with  the  Church.  They  hated  to  see  the  popes  mixing  in 
politics  and  contending  with  kings  ;  and  they  were  not 
pleased  with  the  tax  which  the  popes  levied  on  Christian 


THE  BURNING  OP  HERETICS 

countries  in  the  shape  of  Peter's  pence,  or  with  the  raising 
of  money  by  the  sale  of  pardons  for  sins  past  or  to  come. 
In  every  country  brave  and  intelligent  priests  had  risen 
to  protest,  and  to  say  that  these  things  were  wrong.  But 
no  two  of  them  agreed  what  should  be  done,  and  the  Church 
was  able  to  break  down  each  separately,  either  by  burn- 
ing him  as  a  heretic,  or  by  keeping  him  in  prison,  or  in 
some  other  way. 


176  [1515-1547 

Thus,  John  Huss,  of  Prague,  protested,  was  caught, 
tried,  and  burned  at  Constance.  Girolamo  Savonarola,  of 
Florence,  was  seized  and  was  hanged  and  burned.  John 
Wyckliffe,  of  England,  was  arrested  and  tried  ;  the  priests 
were  afraid  to  execute  him  because  when  they  proposed 
to  do  so  an  angry  light  came  into  the  eye  of  the  sturdy 
English  people.  John  Calvin  was  driven  out  of  France. 
But  bold  Martin  Luther,  in  Germany,  set  the  pope  at  de- 
fiance ;  and  when  the  emperor  called  on  him  to  take  back 
what  he  had  said,  he  defied  him  too.  And  the  emperor, 
looking  a\  the  crowds  who  stood  at  Luther's  back,  and 
who,  as  they  listened  to  his  brave  words,  had  a  way  of 
fingering  their  sword-hilts,  thought  to  himself  that  this 
was  a  good  man  to  let  alone.  That  is  how  the  Reforma- 
tion, as  it  is  called,  took  root  in  Germany. 

In  France  people  were  very  much  mixed.  Most  of  the 
bright  men  of  the  day  were  on  the  side  of  the  Reforma- 
tion  ;  the  best  and  brightest  woman — the  king's  sister, 
Marguerite — was  heart  and  soul  with  Luther.  The  king 
shilly-shallied  after  his  fashion.  'He  was  a  churchman  on 
Monday  and  a  Protestant  on  Wednesday ;  sometimes  he 
changed  his  faith,  like  his  shirt,  every  day.  You  never 
knew  where  to  find  him.  But,  on  the  whole,  when  a  new 
and  lovely  lady  came  to  court  and  smiled  on  him,  he 
thought  of  nothing  but  her,  and  then  the  Church  had  its 
own  way  with  the  reformers. 

Thus  Peter  Leclerc,  an  old  and  wise  priest  who  agreed 
with  Luther,  was  burned  alive  with  thirteen  of  his  friends 
in  the  market-place  of  Meaux.  Thus  Louis  Berquin,  who 
had  written  a  book  in  favor  of  the  Reformation,  was  sen- 
tenced to  have  a  hole  burned  in  his  tongue,  and  to  be  con- 
fined between  four  walls,  without  pen,  ink,  or  paper,  for 
the  rest  of  his  life  ;  a  few  days  afterward  the  priests 
changed  their  mind,  and  he  was  burned  alive.  Thus  John 
Leclerc,  for  tearing  down  the  notice  of  the  price  at  which 
the  priests  would  sell  indulgences  to  commit  sin,  was  hor- 
ribly punished.  :  his  right  hancl  was  cut  off,  his  nose  was 


TOKTUKES   OF   THE   INQUISITION 

torn  out,  pinches  of  flesh  were  wrenched  from  his  arms 
with  hot  pincers,  a  circlet  of  red-hot  iron  was  bound  round 
his  head,  and  then  his  bleeding  body  was  thrown  upon  the 
fagots  and  burned.  And  thus,  in  the  year  1545,  into  the 
beautiful  country  of  Vaud,  where  most  of  the  people  were 
Protestants,  two  columns  of  troops  were  marched,  who 
sacked  three  towns  and  twenty-two  villages,  massacred 
three  thousand  people,  sent  seven  hundred  to  the  galleys, 
12 


178  [1515-1647 

sold  the  children  and  young  girls  for  slaves,  and  put  up  a 
sign  on  leaving  that  no  one  under  pain  of  death  should 
give  shelter  or  money  or  food  to  any  Vaudian  or  other 
heretic. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  the  long  struggle  between 
the  Church  and  the  Reformation  in  France.  For  nearly 
a  hundred  years  from  the  reign  of  Francis  the  First  this 
history  will  be  little  else  than  a  story  of  religious  quarrels. 
It  is  a  sad  story.  You  might  fancy  that  the  good  and 
wise  Queen  of  Navarre  saw  what  was  coming  when  she 
wrote,  on  hearing  of  the  persecution  of  the  reformers  after 
the  death  of  Francis, 

"  No  father  have  I,  no  mother, 
Sister  or  brother, 
On  God  alone  I  now  rely, 
Who  ruleth  over  earth  and  sky. 

0  world,  I  say  good-by  to  you, 
To  relatives,  and  friendly  ties, 
To  honors,  and  to  wealth  adieu, 

1  hold  them  all  for  enemies." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

DIANA    OF   POITIERS 
A.D.  1547-1559 

THE  crown  of  Francis  the  First  fell  at  his  death  to  his 
son,  Henry  the  Second,  a  young  man  of  twenty-eight,  ro- 
bust, strong,  and  pleasant-mannered  ;  but  the  real  king 
during  his  twelve  years'  reign  was  a  woman. 

This  was  Diana  of  Poitiers,  who  was  forty  years  old 
when  Henry  was  crowned.  Henry  had  married  a  lovely 
girl — Catherine  of  Medicis  ;  but  he  cared  nothing  for  her, 
and  let  Diana  rule  him  in  everything.  The  queen  grieved 
in  secret  at  being  neglected — so  much  that  one  of  her 
friends,  named  Tavannes,  offered  to  go  and  cut  Diana's 
nose  off.  But  in  her  youth  Catherine  was  gentle — she  was 
not  so  gentle  afterward — and  was  afraid  of  an  open  rupt- 
ure with  her  husband's  favorite  ;  so  Diana  kept  her  nose. 

There  were  at  that  time  two  great  soldiers  in  the  French 
army— the  Constable  Montmorency  and  the  Duke  of 
Guise.  Of  the  latter  and  his  family  you  will  hear  much 
more  hereafter.  The  old  chronic  war  breaking  out  be- 
tween France  and  the  Emperor  Charles,  these  two  led  the 
French  armies,  and  led  them  successfully,  until  the  con- 
stable was  beaten  at  Saint-Quentin  and  made  prisoner. 
Then  Guise  came  to  the  front  alone.  He  made  a  sudden 
dash  at  Calais,  which  the  English  had  held  for  two  hun- 
dred years,  and  took  it,  in  spite  of  the  distich  which  the 
English  had  engraved  on  one  of  its  gates  : 

"  When  lead  and  iron  swim  like  wood, 
A  siege  of  Calais  may  be  good." 

When  the  emperor  besieged  the  French  at  Metz — the 


180  [154Y-1559 

very  place  where  the  Germans  besieged  Marshal  Bazaine 
twentv-two  years  ago  —  Guise  made  so  stout  a  defence 
that  he  drove  his  army  off,  broken  and  shattered.  So  now 
the  French  people  began  to  think  a  great  deal  of  the 
Duke  of  Guise. 

All  this  while  the  king  was  disporting  himself  with  his 
lady  friend  at  Paris.  lie  did  once  take  the  command  of 
his  troops,  but  he  did  not  keep  it  long.  He  liked  pleasure 
better  than  fighting.  He  and  his  courtiers  played  at  being 
wandering  knights,  spent  their  life  in  riding  through  the 
woods,  and  made  believe  they  were  very  much  surprised 
when  dinner-time  came  to  find  a  splendid  meal  laid  out  for 
them  in  a  rustic  arbor  which  had  been  built  for  the  pur- 
pose, with  superb  paintings  on  the  walls  and  priceless 
ruo-s  on  the  floors.  Of  course,  I  need  not  tell  you  that 
these  sports  cost  a  great  deal  of  money,  but  Diana  knew 
how  to  raise  it.  She  sold  all  the  offices,  from  judgeships  to 
places  in  the  royal  kitchen,  and  when  the  money  came  in 
too  slowly  she  created  new  offices  in  order  to  sell  them. 
As  for  the  bishoprics  and  abbeys,  she  kept  a  list  of  them 
and  sold  them  before  they  were  vacant.  With  the  money 
thus  raised  she  established  the  wickedest  court  in  Europe 
—  a  court  in  which  men  and  women  boasted  of  being 
vile,  and  base,  and  wicked,  and  in  which  a  great  noble 
founded  a  body-guard  called  the  "  Brave  and  Bad,"  to 
which  no  one  could  be  admitted  unless  he  had  committed 
some  crime. 

King  Henry  enjoyed  the  gay  life  he  led.  On  June  30th, 
1559,  he  gave  a  tournament,  and  to  be  polite  his  courtiers 
allowed  him  to  roll  them  in  the  dust.  But  there  came  a 
rough  and  brutal  Scotchman  named  Montgomery,  who  did 
not  understand  a  joke  ;  he  charged  the  king  in  downright 
earnest,  and  struck  his  visor  so  squarely  with  his  lance  that 
the  lance  broke,  and  a  splinter  went  into  the  king's  eye. 
lie  was  taken  from  his  horse,  and  his  wound  probed  ;  it 
was  found  that  the  splinter  had  gone  into  his  brain.  He 
died  ten  days  afterward  in  terrible  suffering. 


1547-1559]  181 

The  Reformation  made  progress  during  the  reign,  though 
the  king  and  the  Guises  were  opposed  to  it  and  had  a 
number  of  Protestants  burned.  King  Henry  himself  was 
a  trifler,  and  did  not  care  much  whether  the  Protestants 
were  persecuted  or  let  alone.  But  when  one  of  his  best 
soldiers,  Francis  d'Anbelot,  declared  that  he  was  on  the 
side  of  the  Reformation,  the  king  threw  a  plate  at  his 
head  and  locked  him  up  in  jail.  For  all  this,  the  best  peo- 
ple in  France,  one  by  one,  drifted  over  to  the  Protestant 
side.  Two  thousand  Protestant  churches  were  founded  in 
France  during  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Second. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  GUISES 
A.D.  1559-1560 

THE  rule  was  when  a  King  died,  that  his  widow  should 
put  on  the  blackest  mourning  and  sit  in  a  dark  room  for 
forty  days.  But  when  Henry  the  Second  died,  his  widow, 
Catherine  of  Medicis,  had  too  much  work  on  hand  to 
waste  forty  days  in  crying  over  a  man  who  in  the  first 
bloom  of  her  youth  and  beauty  had  preferred  to  her  a 
woman  of  forty.  She  sternly  ordered  Diana  of  Poitiers 
to  return  every  jewel  Henry  had  given  her  ;  then  she  bade 
her  be  gone  forever. 

Her  son  Francis  the  Second,  who  had  succeeded  to  the 
throne,  she  had  married  to  a  lovely  girl,  of  whom  you  have 
heard,  Mary  Queen  of  Scots.  He  was  sixteen,  she  fifteen  ; 
the  queen-mother  had  an  idea  of  a  nursery  in  which  these 
two  children  were  to  play  all  day  long,  with  herself  as 
head  nurse,  managing  the  government  for  them.  But  she 
reckoned  without  the  Guises — the  fighting  Duke  of  Guise 
and  the  smooth,  cunning  Cardinal  of  Guise.  They  said 
that  so  long  as  the  king  was  a  child  it  was  their  proper 
business  to  govern  France,  and  above  all  things  to  crush 
the  heretics — by  which  term  they  meant  the  Protestants, 
who  in  France  began  to  be  called  Huguenots.  The  lead- 
ers of  the  Huguenots  were  the  Prince  of  Conde,  who  was 
a  dandy,  and  a  great  favorite  with  the  ladies,  and  was 
jokingly  called  the  pretty  little  man,  though  he  was  brave 
as  steel  and  could  fight  to  the  death  ;  and  the  King  of 
Navarre,  who  was  a  stupid  person.  Sometimes  the  Grand 
Constable  Montmorency  said  that  he  was  a  Huguenot ; 
but  most  times  he  said  he  was  a  Catholic,  though  he  hated 


AN   EXECUTION  AT   AM1JOISE 


the  Guises,  and  they  hated  him  from  the  bottom  of  their 
hearts.  There  was  no  one  in  France  who  was  as  cunning 
as  the  two  Guises.  There  had  been  a  law  passed  in  King 
Henry's  reign  forbidding  Protestant  church  services  under 
pain  of  death  ;  this  law  the  Guises  resolved  to  carry  out 
to  the  letter.  First  they  got  possession  of  the  boy-king, 
his  girl-wife — Mary  Queen  of  Scots — aiding  them  with  all 
her  might,  and  the  queen-mother  not  seeing  her  way  to 
oppose  them  ;  then  they  had  Montmorency  dismissed,  took 
everything  into  their  hands,  and  began  to  burn  Protes- 
tants at  a  lively  rate.  As  they  were  short  of  money,  Car- 
dinal Guise  stuck  up  a  placard  on  the  walls  of  the  palace 
of  Fontainebleau,  where  the  boy-king  was,  in  these  words, 

"All  persons  coming  here  with  bills,  and  demanding 
money,  will  be  hanged." 

This,  of  course,  enraged  the  king's  creditors,  and  they 
plotted  against  the  Guises,  who  were  beginning  to  be 
hated.  They  were  so  much  afraid  that  the  people  would 
fall  upon  them  and  make  an  end  of  them  that  they  moved 
the  boy-king  to  the  strong  castle  of  Amboise,  and  induced 
Catherine  to  appoint,  the  Duke  of  Guise  lieutenant-general 
of  the  kingdom,  with  power  of  life  and  death  without 


184 


[1559-1560 


trial.  Catherine  submitted  with  a  wry  face,  because  she 
could  not  help  herself.  Then  the  Guises  turned  on  the 
plotters  and  executed  them  without  mercy.  Hundreds 
were  hung,  beheaded,  or  dro\vned  in  the  Loire.  The  exe- 
cutioners would  fasten  six  or  eight  persons  to  a  long  pole, 
sink  the  pole  to  the  river  bottom,  and  keep  it  there  till  all 
were  drowned.  What  seems  most  shocking  was  that  these 
executions  took  place  after  dinner  in  front  of  the  castle  of 
Amboise,  and  that  the  duke  and  the  cardinal  took  the  boy- 
king,  his  girl-wife,  and  the  ladies-in-waiting  to  the  battle- 
ments to  see  the  executions  and  listen  to  the  shrieks  of  the 
dying.  You  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  a  good  and 
wise  old  man,  the  Chancellor  Olivier,  turned  to  Cardinal 
Guise  and  exclaimed, 


DUKE   OF   GUIBE 


1559-1560]  185 

"Ah  !  Cardinal,  you  are  getting  us  all  damned  !" 

These  cruel  deeds  and  the  impudence  of  the  Guises  at 
last  gave  Catherine  the  opportunity  she  had  been  waiting 
for.  She  said  the  executions  shocked  her,  and  she  sus- 
pended the  law  condemning  Protestants  to  death.  She 
ordered  that  the  Huguenots  be  allowed  to  pray  after  their 
own  fashion,  provided  they  did  not  plot  against  the  king. 
The  Guises  took  their  revenge  by  accusing  the  Prince  of 
Conde,  the  pretty  little  man,  of  high  treason.  He  had  a 
mock  trial,  was  found  guilty,  and  was  sentenced  to  death. 
But  before  he  could  be  executed,  as  he  was  sitting  one  day 
playing  cards  with  his  jailers,  a  servant  stole  into  the 
room  and  whispered  in  his  ear, 

"  Our  gentleman  has  croaked." 

It  was  true  enough.  On  the  5th  of  December,  1560,  an 
abscess  had  burst  in  the  ear  of  the  King  of  France,  and  the 
poor  boy  had  died,  leaving  his  kingdom  to  be  fought  for 
by  his  brother,  his  mother,  the  Guises,  and  the  Protestant 
leaders.  Wise  men  saw  that  rivers  of  blood  would  flow 
before  France  would  once  more  have  peace. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

CATHERINE  OF  MEDICIS 
A.D.   1560-1574 

FRANCIS  THE  SECOND  was  succeeded  by  his  brother 
Charles,  who  became  known  as  Charles  the  Ninth.  He 
was  then  ten  years  old.  Throughout  his  reign  and  the 
succeeding  reign,  the  most  powerful  person  in  the  king- 
dom was  Catherine  of  Medicis,  the  king's  mother.  You 
remember  her  as  the  patient  young  wife  of  Henry  the 
Second,  who  would  not  allow  Tavannes  to  cut  off  the  nose 
of  Diana  of  Poitiers  ;  and  as  the  bustling  queen-mother, 
who  had  no  time  to  sit  in  the  dark  when  she  became  a 
widow,  because  she  had  work  to  do  which  required 
light.  When  her  husband  died,  she  felt  that  her  time  had 
come. 

She  was  then  forty-three  years  old,  quite  stout,  with  an 
olive  complexion.  She  ate  and  drank  a  great  deal,  but 
kept  herself  well  by  riding  or  walking  several  hours  a  day. 
When  Francis  died  she  took  Charles  to  sleep  in  her  room, 
and  for  many  years  she  never  let  him  out  of  her  sight. 
She  received  his  visitors,  opened  his  letters,  never  let  his 
seal  of  state  pass  out  of  her  hands,  decided  all  public  ques- 
tions for  him,  and  saw  to  it  that  he  was  always  amused. 
The  Catholic  Duke  of  Guise  had  proposed  to  her  to  go 
into  partnership  with  him  to  manage  the  kingdom  ;  she 
pretended  to  be  much  struck  by  the  idea,  yet  gave  him  no 
decided  answer,  but  on  the  same  day  she  invited  his 
deadly  foe,  the  Huguenot  King  of  Navarre,  to  visit  her 
secretly  at  midnight.  You  will  understand  her,  if  you 
bear  in  mind  that  she  cared  nothing  for  either  religion. 
Her  idea  was  to  play  the  Protestants  against  the  Catholics 


CATHERINE  DE'   MEDICI 

and  to  take  sides  with  neither,  but  to  keep  power  in  her 
own  hands. 

It  was  a  hard  task.  The  French  were  all  wild  on  the 
subject  of  religion— the  Huguenots  insisting  on  their  right 
to  worship  God  in  their  own  way  ;  the  Catholics,  who  were 
the  most  numerous,  insisting  that  there  should  be  but  one 
religion  in  the  kingdom.  Wherever  the  two  met  they 
fought,  and  the  stronger  of  the  two  slaughtered  the 
weaker.  Battles  raged  almost  every  day. 


188  [1560-1574 

The  curate  of  St.  Medard,  at  Paris,  tried  to  drown  the 
voice  of  a  Huguenot  preacher  in  a  chapel  near  his  church 
by  ringing  his  bells  clamorously  ;  a  Huguenot  who  Avent  to 
remonstrate  was  killed  ;  then  the  Huguenots  burst  into  St. 
Medard,  battered  the  priests,  broke  the  crucifixes,  smashed 
the  statues,  and  drove  out  the  Catholics  howling. 

The  Duke  of  Guise,  at  the  head  of  two  hundred  troop- 
ers, fell  upon  a  Huguenot  congregation  at  Vassy  in  Cham- 
pagne, killed  sixty,  and  wounded  two  hundred  unarmed 
Protestants.  At  the  news  of  the  massacre  Huguenots 
burst  into  fury  everywhere,  and  you  will  not  be  surprised 
at  it.  When  the  duke  passed  men  were  heard  to  cry  that 
they  would  willingly  die  if  they  could  stick  their  dag- 
gers into  his  doublet.  His  life  would  not  have  been 
worth  a  sou  if  Constable  Montmorency  had  not  protected 
him. 

The  Huguenots,  feeling  that  they  must  kill  or  be  killed, 
took  up  arms,  under  the  lead  of  the  "pretty  little  man," 
who  had  not  been  executed  after  all,  and  old  Admiral  Co- 
ligni,  who  was  a  valiant  captain  and  a  gentleman  of  purest 
honor  ;  they  seized  Orleans,  Rouen,  and  other  cities.  The 
Catholics  under  the  Duke  of  Guise  besieged  them.  Rouen 
fell,  but  Orleans  held  out  as  in  the  old  days  of  Joan  of  Arc. 
Guise  wrote  to  Queen  Catherine  that  the  town  must  be 
destroyed,  and  every  living  being  in  it  killed,  "  even  the 
cats."  As  it  happened,  neither  the  people  nor  even  the 
cats  met  this  fate  ;  but  Guise,  riding  through  his  lines  one 
dark  night,  was  shot  with  a  poisoned  bullet,  and  there  was 
an  end  of  him. 

All  this  time  Catherine  went  on  coquetting  with  both 
factions.  She  told  every  one  she  was  on  the  side  of  Guise, 
and  had  him  with  her  constantly  ;  but  at  night  she  wrote 
sweet  letters  to  the  Huguenots,  bidding  them  be  of  good 
cheer  and  to  rely  on  her  for  help  when  the  right  time 
came.  She  always  wanted  to  be  on  the  winning  side. 
When  Guise  was  killed  she  believed  the  Huguenots  would 
win,  and  in  the  king's  name  she  issued  an  edict  called  the 


1560-1574] 


189 


Edict  of  Amboise,  which  gave  the  Protestants  leave  to 
worship  in  their  own  way. 

This  gave  the  country  six  years'  peace.  Then  the  war 
broke  out  again,  and  Catholics  and  Huguenots  met  in  battle 
at  Jarnac.  A  kick  of  a  horse  broke  the  pretty  little  man's 
leg,  and  one  of  the  officers  of  the  Duke  of  Anjou,  who  led 
the  Catholics,  and  of  whom  you  will  hear  more  in  the  next 
chapter,  shot  him  dead.  His  body  was  thrown  on  the 
back  of  an  ass,  with  his  head  hanging  down  on  one  side 
and  his  feet  on  the  other,  and  the  soldiers  threw  mud  on 
it  as  it  passed.  All  these  battles  were  cruel  and  bloody  ; 
not  many  prisoners  were  taken  ;  when  people  fight  for  re- 
ligion they  have  no  mercy. 


CHARLES   IX 


ADMIRAL  COLIGNI 

When  Charles  was  fourteen  he  was  proclaimed  king, 
and  his  mother  Catherine  pretended  to  give  up  her  au- 
thority. She  even  started  for  Italy,  where  she  was  born. 
But  her  son  was  lost  without  her.  He  could  not  even 
write  a  letter  unless  she  was  at  his  elbow.  He  sent  for 
her  to  come  back.  She  came,  and  ruled  France  with  a 
higher  and  a  more  iron  hand  than  ever.  The  cunning 
woman  now  believed  that  the  Catholics  were  going  to  win, 
and  made  up  her  mind  to  put  out  of  the  way  the  Hugue- 
not leader — the  white-headed  and  gallant  Admiral  Coligni 
— not  that  she  had  any  fault  to  find  with  him,  nor  that  she 
objected  to  Protestantism,  but  because  she  thought  that  he 
stood  in  her  way,  and  that  if  he  were  dead  the  Huguenots 
would  lose  heart  and  cease  from  troubling. 

She  conspired  with  the  Duke  of  Guise,  the  son  of  the 
man  who  was  shot  at  Orleans,  and  the  two  hired  an  assas- 


THE   THREE    COLIGNIB 


ain,  who  fired  at  the  admiral  as  he  was  going  home  from 
the  Louvre.  The  ball  cut  off  two  of  his  fingers,  but  did 
not  kill  him.  Charles  was,  or  pretended  to  be,  so  angry 
that  his  mother  had  to  let  him  into  the  plot ;  she  persuad- 
ed him  that  his  life  was  not  safe  so  long  as  Coligni  exist- 
ed. It  was  hard  to  convince  Charles,  but  the  poor,  dull, 
muddled  brain  yielded  at  last,  and  he  said, 

"  By  God's  death !  since  you  think  proper  to  kill  the 
admiral,  I  consent,  but  all  the  Huguenots  in  Paris  must 
die  too.  Give  the  orders  at  once." 

A  guard  had  been  set  around  the  admiral's  house,  and  at 
the  head  of  it  was  an  abominable  cut-throat  in  the  pay  of 


192  [1560-1574 

the  Duke  of  Guise,  whose  name  was  Behra.  Late  that 
night — for  the  conspirators  did  not  dare  waste  time,  lest 
the  king  should  change  his  mind — the  cut-throat  broke 
into  the  admiral's  room,  with  a  body  of  archers.  The 
crippled  veteran  sprang  out  of  bed,  put  on  a  dressing- 
gown,  and  leaned  against  the  wall.  Said  Behm, 

"Art  thou  the  admiral  ?" 

"  Young  man,"  replied  Coligni,  "  thou  comest  against 
an  aged  and  a  wounded  man.  Thou'll  not  shorten  my  life 
much." 

The  assassin  thrust  a  boar  spear  into  the  admiral's  stom- 
ach, then  struck  him  with  it  on  the  head.  The  archers 
stabbed  him  as  he  lay. 

From  the  darkness  of  the  courtyard,  where  archers' 
torches  flashed  a  straggling  light,  the  voice  of  the  Duke 
of  Guise  rose, 

"  Behm,  hast  done  ?" 

"  It  is  all  over,  my  lord,"  was  the  answer,  and  the  body 
of  the  old  admiral  was  thrown  out  of  the  window  and 
splashed  the  pavement  with  his  blood.  Guise  approached 
it,  turned  it  over  with  his  foot,  wiped  the  blood  off  the 
white  hairs  with  his  boot,  gazed  on  the  face  by  the  light 
of  a  torch,  and  said  exultingly, 

"Faith,  it  is  he,  sure  enough." 

Then  he  rode  off.  Next  morning  at  daybreak  the  church- 
bells  at  Paris  began  to  ring  the  tocsin,  and  in  every  quar- 
ter Guise's  friends  appeared  in  arms.  They  had  been  told 
that  it  was  the  king's  will  that  all  Huguenots  should  be 
massacred,  and  they  were  thirsty  for  blood.  The  rabble 
of  Paris  eagerly  joined  in  the  devilish  work,  and,  as  the 
Catholics  were  four  or  five  times  as  numerous  as  the  Prot- 
estants, there  was  no  resistance.  How  many  poor  Hugue- 
nots were  slaughtered  in  cold  blood  in  Paris  and  in  other 
towns — for  the  killing  was  contagious — it  is  difficult  to 
say,  but  four  thousand  dead  bodies  floated  down  the  Seine. 
This  shocking  event  is  called  in  history  the  Massacre  of  St. 
Bartholomew,  because  it  occurred  on  St,  Bartholomew's  day. 


MASSACRE   OF   ST.  BARTHOLOMEW 

Wicked  Catherine,  who  plotted  the  massacre,  did  not 
reap  the  reward  she  expected.  Religious  war  broke  out 
again  with  more  fury  than  ever.  The  great  seaport  of  La 
Rochelle  revolted  against  the  king  and  turned  out  his 
officers.  He  besieged,  but  could  not  take  it,  and  after 
losing  some  of  his  best  captains  he  had  to  raise  the  siege 
and  sign  the  Edict  of  La  Rochelle,  which  gave  the  Hugue- 
nots freedom  to  worship  in  their  own  way.  Neither  the 
duke  nor  the  queen  had  made  much  by  the  floods  of  blood 
they  had  spilled. 
13 


194  [1CCO-1674 

As  for  King  Charles,  he  never  forgave  himself.  His 
looks  became  sombre  and  downcast,  and  his  head  always 
drooped.  He  refused  to  drink  wine  or  to  eat  anything 
but  the  plainest  food.  In  order  to  tire  himself,  so  as  to 
get  some  sleep,  he  used  to  ride  on  horseback  for  twelve 
hours  at  a  time.  I  am  not  surprised  myself  to  read  that 
he  had  visions,  in  which  he  saw  dead  men,  lying  stabbed 
on  the  floor  by  his  side,  and  women,  with  blood  flowing 
down  their  bosoms  from  gaping  wounds,  flying  madly 
from  the  sight  of  him,  with  streaming  hair  and  screaming 
children  in  their  arms.  He  entreated  his  doctor,  the  great 
Ambroise  Pare,  who  was  himself  a  Huguenot,  to  find  him 
some  cure  for  these  horrid  visions  ;  he  begged  for  rest,  rest, 
rest,  but  the  wise  old  physician  shook  his  head.  He  knew 
that  the  king's  ailment  was  not  to  be  cured  by  medicine. 

He  was  not  yet  twenty-four  years  of  age  when  he  was 
attacked  by  an  inflammation  of  the  chest.  He  would  not 
allow  his  mother  near  him,  but  to  a  faithful  old  nurse,  who 
never  left  him,  he  moaned  incessantly, 

"  Oh  !  nurse,  nurse,  what  bloodshed  and  what  murders ! 
What  evil  counsel  have  I  followed  !  O  my  God,  forgive 
me  my  sins,  and  have  mercy  on  me  !  I  know  not  what 
hath  come  to  me,  so  bewildered  am  I.  What  shall  I  do  ? 
I  am  lost,  lost !" 

In  a  day  or  two  he  died,  in  a  fit  of  crying.  Almost  with 
his  last  words  he  rejoiced  that  his  successor  would  not  be 
a  child,  or  one  who  could  be  misled  by  others. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

MORE    WARS   AND    MURDERS 
A.D.  1574-1589 

HENRY  THE  THIRD,  brother  and  successor  of  Charles  the 
Ninth,  was  out  of  France  when  his  brother  died.  He  re- 
turned, and  rather  surprised  the  French  by  walking  bare- 
foot in  a  religious  procession  at  Avignon,  holding  a  crucifix 
and  scourging  himself  with  a  whip.  He  was  twenty-three 
years  old.  He  had  fought  bravely  enough  in  the  relig- 
ious wars,  but  he  was  a  fop.  He  used  to  rouge  his  cheeks 
and  dye  his  hair  ;  he  wore  very  expensive  clothes  of  silver 
tissue,  velvet,  and  satin,  covered  with  lace  and  embroid- 
eries, and  fringed  with  jewels  and  silver  tags.  Sometimes 
he  masqueraded  in  woman's  clothes.  He  laid  down  the 
most  absurd  rules  of  etiquette :  no  one  could  approach  him 
nearer  than  a  certain  fixed  number  of  feet ;  in  the  morning, 
when  he  awoke,  a  servant  brought  a  glass  of  water  and 
handed  it  to  a  courtier,  who  walked  a  few  steps  with  it 
and  then  handed  it  to  a  prince  of  the  blood,  from  whom 
alone  the  king  was  willing  to  receive  it.  It  was  not  long 
before  he  showed  that  he  was  fonder  of  plajang  cup  and 
ball,  and  other  games,  with  idle  favorites,  than  of  attend- 
ing to  his  duties  of  king.  He  had  seen  so  much  wicked- 
ness going  on  under  his  brother's  reign  that  you  will  not  be 
surprised  to  hear  that  he  accused  his  younger  brother  of  try- 
ing to  kill  him  by  scratching  his  neck  with  a  poisoned  ring. 

This  was  not  the  man  to  make  an  end  of  the  religious 
wars,  which  never  ceased  to  rage  and  make  life  hideous 
for  quiet  people.  Huguenots  and  Catholics  would  meet 
and  fight  until  they  were  exhausted  ;  then  they  would 
agree  to  a  truce  for  a  few  months  or  years  ;  when  they  re- 


196  [1574-1589 

covered  breath,  some  killing  of  a  Huguenot  by  a  Catholic 
or  of  a  Catholic  by  a  Huguenot  would  rouse  their  blood, 
and  the  fighting  would  begin  again. 

The  Catholics  formed  a  holy  League  to  crush  the  Prot- 
estants and  set  at  the  head  of  it  Henry  of  Guise,  son  of 
Duke  Francis  of  Guise.  In  a  battle  Henry  had  been  shot 
in  the  face  ;  the  bullet  had  carried  off  part  of  one  ear  and 
dug  a  furrow  along  his  cheek,  from  which  he  was  called  the 
Man  with  the  Scar.  The  League  put  an  army  in  the  field 
and  fought  the  Huguenots  wherever  they  met  them.  In 
their  turn  the  Huguenots  put  an  army  in  the  field  and  set 
at  the  head  of  it  Henry  of  Navarre,  one  of  the  most  glo- 
rious heroes  who  ever  lived  in  France.  Between  the  two, 
King  Henry  the  Third  was  pulled  now  this  way  and  now 
that ;  he  was  a  poor  creature,  who  had  no  mind  of  his  own, 
and  his  mother,  Catherine,  who  was  over  sixty,  fat  and 
gouty,  was  not  able  to  help  him  much. 

At  Poitiers,  when  Henry  of  Navarre  was  near  him,  he 
agreed  that  the  Huguenots  should  be  let  alone;  at  Paris, 
shortly  afterward,  when  the  Man  with  the  Scar  stood  over 
him,  with  a  scowl  on  his  scarred  face,  he  took  it  all  back 
and  ordered  the  persecution  to  go  on.  But  under  brave 
Henry  of  Navarre  the  Huguenots  learned  to  fight.  They 
met  the  king's  army,  which  was  led  by  one  of  the  king's 
chief  favorites,  at  Coutras ;  the  Catholics  were  terribly 
beaten,  the  favorite  being  left  dead  on  the  field.  The  Hu- 
guenots might  then,  with  the  help  of  some  German  Prot- 
estants who  had  come  to  their  assistance,  have  made  an  end 
of  the  League ;  but  Henry  of  Navarre,  with  all  his  noble 
qualities,  had  one  great  weakness  :  he  never  could  resist  a 
pretty  face,  and  the  beautiful  Corisande  of  Grammont  im- 
ploring him  to  visit  her  after  his  victory,  he  obeyed  and 
lost  his  opportunity.  While  he  was  at  the  feet  of  pretty 
Corisande,  Guise  drove  his  army  back  and  entered  Paris. 

When  he  passed  through  the  gate,  he  covered  his  face 
with  his  cloak ;  but  the  people  quickly  recognized  him  and. 
shouted, 


HENRY    III 

"  Hurrah  for  Guise  !  Hurrah  for  the  pillar  of  the 
Church  !" 

He  went  straight  to  the  palace  of  Queen-mother  Cath- 
erine, who  lifted  her  fat  body  from  her  couch  and  grew 
very  pale  when  he  entered.  She  said,  with  a  forced  smile, 
that  she  was  glad  to  see  him,  but  that  she  would  rather 
have  seen  him  at  any  other  time.  He  bade  the  old  woman 
conduct  him  to  the  king.  She  was  carried  to  her  sedan- 
chair,  and  he  walked  beside  her,  bareheaded,  in  a  white 
damask  doublet,  with  a  black  cloak,  and  boots  of  buffalo- 


198  [1574-1589 

hide.  The  people  shouted  with  joy  to  see  him,  women 
flung  flowers  on  his  head  from  the  windows,  and  one  girl 
pushed  through  the  crowd  and  kissed  him.  He  entered 
the  Louvre,  with  head  erect  and  proud  face,  through  a 
double  row  of  frowning  archers,  who  were  surprised  to  see 
him,  and  at  length  met  the  king  face  to  face. 

Said  Henry  :  "  What  brings  you  here  ?  I  ordered  you 
not  to  come." 

Said  Guise  :  "  I  am  here  to  offer  your  majesty  my 
humble  services." 

And  he  stalked  out  with  his  chin  in  the  air.  Then  every 
one,  and  Catherine  better  than  any  other,  knew  that  it  was 
war  to  the  death  between  these  two,  and  that  Guise  meant 
to  make  himself  king. 

A  riot  breaking  out  in  Paris,  the  king  could  not  put  it 
down  and  had  to  humble  himself  and  ask  Guise  to  do  so. 
Catherine  called  on  him  to  thank  him  and  asked  him 
frankly, 

"  Is  it  your  intention  to  take  the  crown  from  my  son's 
head?" 

"  Madame,"  replied  the  duke,  "  the  medicine  may  be 
bitter,  but  it  will  do  good." 

Next  day  King  Henry,  with  a  light  cane  in  his  hand, 
and  a  troop  of  tiny  dogs  of  which  he  was  strangely  fond 
at  his  heels,  walked  to  where  a  carriage  was  waiting  and 
drove  into  the  country,  leaving  Paris  in  the  hands  of  his 
enemy.  Guise  put  his  own  people  in  all  the  strong  places 
and  filled  the  city  with  his  troops.  His  sister,  the  Duch- 
ess of  Montpensier,  went  about  with  a  pair  of  golden 
scissors  at^her  belt ;  she  had  bought  them,  she  said,  to 
cut  the  king's  hair  off  when  he  abdicated  and  became  a 
monk. 

The  king  went  to  Blois,  where  that  curious  collection  of 
noblemen,  priests,  and  representatives  of  the  people  which 
the  French  called  the  States-General,  and  which  we  should 
call  a  congress,  was  about  to  assemble.  There,  as  ill-luck 
would  have  it,  Guise  followed  him.  For  once — it  was  the 


MURDER  OF  GUISE 

only  time  in  his  life — Henry  made  up  his  mind  and  stuck 
to  his  resolution.  He  sent  for  Crillon,  who  commanded 
the  regiment  of  guards,  and  asked  him, 

"  Think  you  the  Duke  of  Guise  deserves  death  ?" 

"  I  do,  sire." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  the  king  ;  "  I  choose  you  to  give 
it  to  him." 


200  [1574-1689 

"  I  am  ready,"  said  the  guardsman,  "  to  challenge  him." 

"  That,"  said  the  king,  "  is  not  what  I  want.  He  must 
be  struck  down  unexpectedly." 

"  Sire,"  said  Crillon,  "  I  am  a  soldier,  not  an  assassin." 

Others  were  not  so  scrupulous.  The  morning  of  the 
23d  of  December,  1588,  was  dark,  cold,  and  dismal ;  it  was 
raining  heavily.  A  royal  council  was  to  meet  at  seven, 
and  the  duke  was  to  attend.  Henry  had  filled  the  rooms 
round  the  council  chamber  with  Gascon  soldiers,  who  knew 
what  they  had  been  sent  for  and  were  ready  for  the  work. 
He  was  pale  and  trembled  all  over.  He  went  into  his 
bedroom  when  Guise  came  in.  The  duke  shivered  a  little 
from  cold  and  asked  a  page  to  bring  him  some  of  the 
sugared  plums  he  used  to  eat  in  the  morning.  Just  then 
a  messenger  told  him  the  king  desired  to  see  him.  As  he 
raised  the  tapestry  which  closed  the  king's  chamber,  five 
Gascons  sprang  upon  him,  stabbing  him  in  the  throat, 
chest,  and  side,  with  cries  of  "  Die,  traitor  !"  The  duke 
had  strength  enough  to  drag  them  across  the  room,  then 
fell  dead  before  the  bed,  choked  with  his  own  blood. 

A  door  opened,  and  the  quaking  king  thrust  his  pale 
face  into  the  room,  stammering,  "  Is  it  done  ?"  Seeing 
the  dead  body  of  the  Man  with  the  Scar  before  him,  he 
plucked  up  courage  enough  to  approach  it  and  muttered, 

"  How  tall  he  is  !  He  looks  even  taller  than  he  did 
when  he  was  alive  !" 

On  the  day  following  the  Cardinal  of  Guise  was  taken 
into  a  gallery  where  four  soldiers  stood  with  drawn  swords 
and  bidden  to  prepare  for  death.  He  made  no  reply,  but 
knelt  down  with  his  face  against  the  wall,  and  as  he 
prayed  a  soldier  drove  his  sword  through  his  body. 

Henry  made  haste  to  tell  his  mother,  now  bedridden 
with  her  gout,  what  he  had  done.  The  grim  old  woman 
heard  him  out. 

"  I  hope,"  said  she,  "  that  the  cutting  is  right.  Now  for 
the  sewing." 

That  did  not  concern  her  long.  Thirteen  days  after- 
ward she  was  dead  herself. 


1574-1589] 


201 


All  the  Catholics  of  France  flew  into  a  frenzy  when  they 
heard  of  the  murder  of  the  Duke  of  Guise.  Madame  de 
Montpensier,  the  sister  of  the  dead  man,  led  a  procession 
through  the  streets  of  Paris,  barefoot,  in  a  loose  robe, 
with  her  hair  streaming  over  her  shoulders,  and  screaming 
like  a  madwoman.  Hundreds  of  ladies  followed  her  lead. 
Crowds  filled  the  streets,  some  singing  dirges,  some  roaring 


ASSASSINATION  OP  HENRY  III 


curses,  all  raging  at  the  assassin.  Men  waved  swords  and 
pikes  ;  women  gave  their  jewels  to  pay  for  troops.  If 
King  Henry  the  Third  had  appeared  at  that  time  in  his 
own  chief  city  his  reign  would  not  have  lasted  even  for 
the  short  period  which  it  was  to  endure. 

There  was  but  one  thing  for  him  to  do — and  that  was  to 
throw  himself  upon  the  mercy  of  Henry  of  Navarre,  the  Hu- 


202  [1574-1589 

guenot  leader.  They  met,  by  appointment,  at  Plessis  les 
Tours — the  king  in  shabby  clothes  and  moving  with  a  gait 
which  was  more  slouching  than  ever  ;  Henry  of  Navarre 
gorgeous  in  olive-green  velvet  doublet,  scarlet  cloak,  and 
white  plume,  smiling  loftily,  and  stepping  like  a  king.  It 
did  not  take  them  long  to  make  a  treaty  by  which  the 
Huguenots  were  to  be  free  from  persecution  ;  and  then  the 
two  Henrys,  with  forty-two  thousand  men  at  their  heels, 
marched  on  Paris,  where  the  brother  of  the  murdered 
Duke  of  Guise,  Mayenne,  was  ruling  as  if  he  had  been 
king. 

Henry  of  France  lodged  at  a  house  at  St.  Cloud,  from 
which  he  could  see  Paris  and  watch  the  fighting.  At 
eight  in  the  morning  of  August  1st,  1589,  a  servant  told 
him  that  a  monk  wished  to  see  him.  He  was  a  mean- 
looking  Dominican,  by  name  Jacques  Clement,  cadaverous, 
wild-eyed,  and  probably  crazed  by  the  religious  wars  of 
the  period.  The  king  accosted  him  pleasantly,  saying, 
"  Well,  friend,  what  news  from  Paris  ?" 

The  monk  handed  him  a  letter  and,  while  the  king  bent 
his  head  to  read  it,  drew  a  long  sharp  knife  from  his 
sleeve  and  drove  it  into  Henry's  stomach  so  furiously  that 
it  stuck  in  the  wound.  The  king  pulled  it  out  and  cried, 

"  The  monk  !     He  has  killed  me  !" 

Guards  came  running  in  and  spitted  the  murderer  with 
their  swords  as  he  stood  against  the  wall  with  his  arms 
outstretched.  But  it  was  too  late  to  do  anything  for  the 
king.  He  died  next  morning,  having  called  upon  his 
friends  to  support  his  successor,  King  Henry  of  Navarre. 


MEDAL,  OF   HENRY  IV.  AND   MARY   OF  MEDICIS 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

HENRY    THE    FOURTH 

A.D.  1589-1610 

WHEN  the  news  of  the  murder  of  Henry  the  Third 
reached  Paris,  Madame  de  Montpensier,  who  never  forgot 
nor  forgave,  mounted  her  carriage  and  drove  furiously 
through  the  streets,  like  a  madwoman,  screaming, 

"  Good  news,  friends,  good  news  !  Henry  the  Third  is 
dead  and  done  for  !" 

But  neither  she  nor  her  friends  the  Leaguers  were  bet- 
ter disposed  toward  the  Protestant  Henry,  who  was  sa- 
luted by  his  officers  and  the  people  round  them  as  Henry 
the  Fourth,  than  they  had  been  toward  Henry  the  Third. 
They  swore  that  they  would  never,  never,  submit  to  be 
ruled  by  a  heretic  king.  And  the  Duke  of  Mayenne,  who 
was  now  the  head  of  the  Guise  family  and  of  the  League, 
sallied  forth,  with  much  blowing  of  trumpets  and  flourish- 
ing of  banners,  to  make  an  end  of  the  Huguenots,  which 
they  said  they  were  sure  to  do  in  two  or  three  days,  or  at 
most  a  week.  They  were  not  so  sure  of  that  when  Henry 
met  them  at  Arques,  and  beat  them  soundly;  and  they  were 
still  more  doubtful  after  he  had  met  them  at  Ivry,  at  ten 
o'clock  one  morning,  and  sent  them  flying  in  every  direc- 
tion before  the  noon-bell  ransc.  It  was  at  this  last  battle 


204  [1589-1610 

that  Henry  bade  his  soldiers,  if  they  were  confused  in  the 
fight,  to  look  for  his  white  plume  and  make  for  that,  be- 
cause there  the  fight  would  be  hottest. 

The  Leaguers  still  held  Paris,  however,  and  there  Henry 
besieged  them.  They  had  a  large  force  of  their  own,  and 
the  King  of  Spain  had  sent  an  army  to  help  them.  Henry 
encircled  the  city  with  strong  works,  and  pretty  soon  the 
provisions  of  the  garrison  began  to  fail.  You  remember 
that  when  Edward  the  Third  of  England  besieged  Calais, 
and  the  garrison  turned  out  of  the  city  the  old  men,  the 
women  and  children,  to  make  their  provisions  last  the 
longer,  cruel  Edward  let  them  die  of  hunger  between  his 
lines  and  the  walls.  Henry  not  only  let  the  old  men  and 
women  and  children  pass  through  his  lines,  but  occasion- 
ally, when  a  convoy  of  bread  or  beef  tried  to  get  into  the 
city,  he  pretended  not  to  notice  it,  and  it  passed  through. 
After  the  siege  had  lasted  off  and  on  for  nearly  four  years, 
and  the  Leaguers'  were  all  quarrelling  among  themselves, 
the  French  quarrelling  with  the  Spaniards,  and  Mayenne 
quarrelling  with  the  citizens,  a  few  of  the  more  1'easonable' 
people  concluded  that  it  was  time  to  end  the  agony,  and 
sent  word  to  Henry  that  they  would  let  him  in. 

The  morning  of  March  22d,  1593,  was  dark  and  rainy. 
Henry  started  from  St.  Denis,  with  two  divisions  of  his 
army,  a  little  after  midnight,  and  ploughed  through  the 
mud  till  five  in  the  morning,  when  they  reached  the  Gate 
of  St.  Denis  and  the  New  Gate,  both  of  which  were  opened 
as  they  approached.  The  provost  of  the  tradesmen  hand- 
ed Henry  the  keys,  and  his  troops  marched  through  street 
after  street  without  meeting  any  resistance ;  they  camped 
in  the  squares  while  he  went  to  the  Louvre.  He  would 
not  allow  a  man  to  be  harmed  ;  he  even  permitted  the 
Spaniards  to  get  away  with  bag  and  baggage.  Other 
towns  followed  the  example  of  Paris,  and  so  Henry  the 
Fourth  got  his  kingdom  at  last. 

But  Henry  was  too  wise  a  man  to  believe  that,  in  those 
days  of  bigotry,  a  Protestant  king  could  rule  peaceably 


1589-1610] 


205 


over  a  people  four-fifths  of  whom  were  Catholics.  He 
saw  that  his  becoming  king  would  not  end  the  religious 
war — that  as  soon  as  people  had  got  over  their  exhaustion 
they  would  fall  to  fighting  again.  And  it  broke  his  heart 
to  think  that  he  should  be  the  cause  of  endless  warfare  in 
his  country. 


CHATEAU  OF  HENRY  IV 

You  can  hardly  fancy  the  frightful  condition  to  which 
this  strife  between  Catholic  and  Protestant  had  reduced 
France.  Everybody  went  armed.  Every  one  was  sus- 
pected, and  many  a  one  was  killed  for  fear  he  might  mean 
to  kill  some  one  else.  In  the  country,  when  a  stranger 
was  seen  coming  along  the  road,  householders  got  on  the 
roofs  of  their  houses  to  inspect  him,  and  if  they  did  not 


206  [1589-1610 

like  his  looks  they  shot  him  without  asking  questions. 
When  a  man  paid  a  visit  he  left  his  gun  and  sword  in  the 
porch  outside  the  door ;  if  he  did  not  he  ran  some  risk  of 
being  stabbed  by  a  host  who  wanted  to  be  on  the  safe 
side.  Families  were  divided — father  against  son,  broth- 
ers against  brothers.  And  this  had  gone  on  for  fifty 
years. 

Henry  consulted  the  wisest  men — Catholic  and  Protes- 
tant— and  they  agreed  that,  for  the  sake  of  his  people,  he 
ought  to  belong  to  the  Church  which  most  of  his  subjects 
preferred.  It  was  a  bitter  struggle  ;  at  first  he  scorned 
the  idea  of  appearing  to  change  his  religion  for  the  sake 
of  becoming  king ;  he  spent  months  in  doubt ;  but  at  last 
he  decided  to  follow  the  advice  of  his  counsellors.  He 
drew  an  edict  granting  full  freedom  of  worship  to  the 
Huguenots  (it  was  known  as  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  and  was 
not  put  in  force  till  after  the  events  I  am  now  relating), 
then,  on  Sunday,  July  25th,  1593,  he  went  in  great  state 
to  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Denis,  where  the  Archbishop  of 
Bourges,  in  flowing  robe,  with  a  mitre  on  his  head  and  a 
crook  in  his  hand,  nine  bishops,  and  a  swarm  of  priests, 
stood  at  the  grand  entrance  to  receive  him. 

Said  the  archbishop  :  "Who  comes  here?" 

Said  Henry  :  "The  King  of  France." 

"  What  does  the  King  of  France  want  ?"  asked  the  arch- 
bishop. 

"  To  be  received  into  the  bosom  of  the  Church." 

"  The  King  of  France  may  enter." 

So  the  king  went  in,  was  duly  baptized,  and  became  a 
Catholic,  so  far  as  baptism  and  blessings  could  make  him 
one. 

I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  joy  of  the  French  people — 
Protestant  and  Catholic.  They  understood  that  this  meant 
peace.  A  few  Huguenots  murmured,  but  when,  afterward, 
they  read  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  which  for  nearly  a  hundred 
years  was  the  charter  of  religious  liberty  in  France,  they 
made  no  more  objection.  The  pope  stormed  and  railed 


1589-1610]  207 

and  declared  that  he  would  never  admit  Henry  into  the 
Church  ;  but  as  Henry  was  in  it  already,  with  or  without 
his  leave,  his  wails  did  not  impress  people  very  much. 
The  King  of  Spain,  who  was  a  besotted  bigot,  sent  an  army 
into  France  to  punish  Henry  for  doing  that  which  Spain 
had  always  wanted  him  to  do ;  but  he  merely  spent  a  great 
sum  of  money  and  wasted  many  lives  without  accomplish- 
ing anything. 

After  a  time  the  Duke  of  Mayenne  begged  Henry's  par- 
don and  became  a  dutiful  subject ;  the  son  of  the  Duke 
of  Guise  was  glad  to  take  an  office  under  him  ;  even  spite- 
ful Madame  de  Montpensier  gave  him  her  hand  to  kiss, 
witli  a  becoming  blush.  He  was  so  manly  and  generous 
and  genial,  he  had  such  winning  ways,  that  no  one  could 
remain  his  enemy  long. 

He  was,  however,  in  terrible  straits  for  money.  These 
wars  cost  vast  sums  ;  the  people  were  all  poor  and  could 
not  pay  taxes.  He  was  so  poor  himself  that,  when  he  had 
subdued  all  his  enemies  and  was  king  without  dispute,  his 
shirts  were  all  torn,  his  doublets  out  at  elbows,  his  cup- 
board so  bare  that  he  had  to  go  round  among  his  friends  to 
beg  a  dinner  or  a  supper.  He  spent  many  sleepless  nights 
planning  how  to  raise  money  to  carry  on  the  government. 

All  his  life  he  had  loved  and  had  been  loved  by  beauti- 
ful women.  He  married  twice,  each  time  unhappily.  His 
first  wife,  the  daughter  of  Catherine  of  Medicis,  was  an 
odious  creature,  who  led  so  shameful  a  life  that  the  king 
would  not  live  with  her  and  at  last  divorced  her ;  his  sec- 
ond was  another  Medicis,  of  whom  you  will  hear  in  the 
next  chapter,  and  who  was  not  by  any  means  a  nice  per- 
son. You  heard  in  the  last  chapter  of  pretty  Corisande 
of  Grarnmont,  at  whose  feet  Henry  hastened  to  lay  the 
first  news  of  his  victory  at  Coutras.  After  her,  a  lovely 
girl,  with  curly  hair  and  soft  blue  eyes,  whose  name  was 
Gabrielle  d'Estrees,  was  for  many  years  Henry's  closest 
friend.  She  had  a  clear  head  as  well  as  a  tender  heart ; 
be  always  sought  her  advice  iu  the  trying  times  through, 


208'  [1589-1610 

which  he  passed,  and  she  generally  advised  him  well. 
Sometimes,  as  ladies  will,  she  forgot  herself,  and  Henry 
had  to  teach  her  that,  much  as  he  loved  her,  he  was  the 
master.  Once  she  quarrelled  with  one  of  Henry's  best 
friends  and  wanted  to  drive  him  from  the  court.  When 
Henry  heard  of  it  he  went  to  her  with  that  ugly  light  in 
his  eyes  which  his  enemies  had  often  seen  in  battle. 

"  Madame,"  said  he,  "  let  me  hear  no  more  of  this.  I 
would  have  you  to  know  your  place.  I  would  rather  part 
with  ten  lady-friends  like  you  than  one  man-friend  like 
Rosny." 

She  died  suddenly,  poor  thing,  and  was  supposed  to  have 
been  poisoned.  After  her  Henry  chose  Henriette  d'En- 
tragues  and  Mademoiselle  de  Montmorenci  to  be  his  fa- 
vorites. His  heart  was  so  loving  that  he  was  lost  if  he 
had  no  woman  to  pet  and  tell  his  secrets  to.  But  no  one 
ever  took  in  his  heart  the  place  which  had  been  Gabri- 
el le's. 

You  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that,  in  that  age  of 
wars  and  treacheries  and  murders,  ruffians  were  found  to 
try  to  assassinate  this  good  king.  He  had  scarcely  got 
settled  at  Paris  when  a  lad  of  nineteen,  named  John  Chas- 
tel,  attended  one  of  his  receptions  and  stabbed  him  in  the 
face  with  a  knife,  without  seriously  injuring  him.  He  con- 
fessed that  the  Jesuits,  who  had  brought  him  up,  had 
taught  him  that  it  was  allowable  to  kill  kings  who  were 
not  approved  by  the  pope.  Chastel  was  put  to  death  with 
horrible  torments,  and  the  Jesuits  were  expelled  from 
Paris.  Of  course  you  know  that  at  the  present  day  the 
Jesuits  do  not  teach  any  brutal  nonsense  of  that  kind. 

A  number  of  other  attempts  were  made  on  Henry's  life, 
but  he  scorned  to  take  precautions  and  laughed  at  the 
idea  of  his  dying  by  murder.  It  was  not  till  his  wife, 
Mary  of  Medicis,  insisted  on  being  crowned  in  great  state 
that  a  curious  presentiment  came  over  him.  He  said  to 
bis  counsellor  Sully, 

"I  shall  die  in  this  city  aqcl  stall  never  go  out  of  it, 


1589-1610]  211 

They  will  kill  me  ;  my  enemies  have  no  remedy  but  my 
death." 

And  for  a  long  time  he  steadfastly  refused  to  attend  the 
coronation,  greatly  to  the  queen's  chagrin.  He  told  her, 

"I  have  been  told  that  I  was  to  be  killed  at  the  first 
grand  ceremony  I  undertook,  and  that  I  would  die  in  a 
carriage." 

The  queen  still  persisted  and  teased  him  so  constantly 
that  he,  who  could  refuse  nothing  to  a  woman,  finally  con- 
sented to  go. 

His  carriage  was  being  driven  along  the  street  of  La 
Ferronnerie,  when  a  cart  got  in  the  way  and  forced  the 
driver  to  slack  up,  and  to  draw  close  to  the  shop  of  an 
ironmonger.  In  the  doorway  stood  a  man  who,  as  the 
carriage  slackened  its  speed,  sprang  upon  the  step  and 
struck  the  king  twice  with  a  knife,  the  last  thrust  entering 
his  body  between  the  fifth  and  sixth  ribs  and  making  a 
deep  hole.  Henry  uttered  a  low  cry  ;  one  of  the  gentle- 
men, who  had  not  noticed  the  assassin,  asked, 

"  What  is  it,  sire  ?" 

The  king  answered  in  a  faint  voice,  "  It  is  nothing,"  and 
spoke  no  more.  They  carried  him  to  the  Louvre  and  laid 
him  on  his  bed  ;  he  remained  speechless  and  insensible  for 
two  days  and  then  died. 

Fran9ois  Ravaillac,  the  murderer,  was  a  madman  who 
had  gone  crazy  on  the  subject  of  religion.  He  was  torn 
in  pieces  by  wild  horses  for  his  crime.  But  even  that  hor- 
rible death  did  not  expiate  his  murder  of  the  wisest,  and 
bravest,  and  gentlest,  and  noblest  king  France  ever  had. 


CARDINAL   RICHELIEU 

CHAPTER    XXXIV 

CARDINAL   RICHELIEU 
A.D.  1610-1643 

Two  or  three  minutes  after  King  Henry  the  Fourth  ex- 
pired the  royal  chancellor  entered  the  room  of  Mary  of 
Medicis.  She  read  his  face  and,  springing  to  her  feet,  cried, 

"  Is  the  king  dead  ?" 

"  Madame,"  answered  the  chancellor,  "the  king  can  never 
die.  Here  is  the  king." 

And  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  head  of  her  son  Louis,  who 
was  a  boy  nine  years  old.  He  was  known  as  Louis  the 
Thirteenth. 

When  Mary  of  Medicis  married  Henry  she  was  twenty- 
seven  years  old — tall,  fat,  with  staring  eyes  and  a  forbid- 
ding air.  Henry  never  loved  her  and  never  trusted  her. 
When  he  died  she  was  thirty-seven — vain,  obstinate,  vin- 
dictive, and  suspicious.  She  did  not  care  for  her  son, 
whose  education  she  neglected,  and  whom  she  allowed  to 
spend  his  time  in  playing  tennis  and  billiards,  setting  bird- 
traps,  and  painting  little  pictures  on  scraps  of  paper. 
When  he  was  fifteen  she  married  him  to  Anne  of  Austria, 
a  Spanish  princess,  who  was  also  fifteen,  pretty  and  grace* 


1610-1643]  213 

ful,  with  blue  eyes  and  a  quantity  of  light  hair.  The  two 
children  seemed  to  take  a  fancy  to  each  other,  though  the 
little  queen  could  hardly  move  in  her  heavy  green  satin 
dress  embroidered  with  gold,  and  was  glad  to  get  it  off 
and  play  at  romps  with  her  boy-husband. 

Mary  of  Medicis,  the  queen-mother,  kept  the  business  of 
government  in  her  own  hands,  and  to  advise  her  she  took 
into  her  employment  the  ablest  statesman  you  have  read 
of  in  this  history — Richelieu. 

You  may  be  surprised  to  hear  that  he  was  a  bishop 
when  he  was  twenty,  but  in  those  days  bishoprics  were 
property  which  could  be  handed  down  from  father  to  son 
or  from  brother  to  brother,  like  a  field  or  a  watch.  He 
was  so  poor  when  he  was  created  a  bishop  that  he  had  to 
buy  a  second-hand  bed  to  sleep  on,  and  made  himself  a 
muff  out  of  a  fur  belonging  to  his  uncle.  But  if  he  was 
poor  in  money  he  was  rich  in  brains,  as  you  will  see. 

The  queen-mother  had  brought  from  Italy  a  woman  she 
liked,  Leonora  Galigai,  and  her  husband  Concini,  and  had 
loaded  them  with  riches,  titles,  and  honors.  She  had  cre- 
ated Concini,  who  was  a  very  common  person,  a  marquis  ; 
and,  as  you  may  suppose,  the  French  grew  jealous  of  him. 
He  was  a  foolish  talker,  and  some  of  his  boastful  speeches 
were  reported  to  the  king  and  angered  him.  One  day  the 
Italian  kept  his  hat  on  in  the  king's  presence — this  was  the 
straw  which  broke  the  camel's  back.  No  one  who  kept  his 
hat  on  before  the  king  was  fit  to  live. 

On  the  24th  of  April,  1617,  the  captain  of  the  King's 
Guard  bade  a  few  trusty  men  put  pistols  in  their  pockets 
when  they  went  on  guard.  When  the  Italian  marquis 
made  his  appearance  the  captain  stepped  up  to  him  and 
said, 

"  I  have  the  king's  orders  to  arrest  you." 

"  What  !  arrest  me  ?"  cried  the  marquis,  clapping  his 
hand  to  his  sword. 

At  that  four  or  five  guardsmen  fired  their  pistols  at  him, 
and  he  fell  dead. 


214  [1610-1643 

Everybody  said  that  this  would  be  bad  for  Richelieu, 
who  had  been  a  close  friend  of  the  dead  man ;  but,  strange 
to  say,  it  turned  out  that  he  was  a  still  closer  friend  of  the 
man  who  succeeded  Concini  in  his  offices — De  Luynes.  At 
this  time  it  took  a  pretty  sharp  observer  to  keep  track  of 
Richelieu's  friendships  and  his  enmities. 

The  queen-mother  was  furious  at  her  favorite's  death, 
and  went  to  the  country,  taking  Richelieu  with  her.  For 
quite  a  long  time  mother  and  son  were  foes  and  never 
met ;  but  at  last  Richelieu  reconciled  them,  and  to  reward 
him  the  king  got  the  pope  to  make  him  a  cardinal  and 
took  him  into  his  own  service.  From  that  time  he  ruled 
France,  and  ruled  it  wisely  and  well. 

It  would  weary  you  to  read  the  story  of  the  cunning 
tricks  by  which  he  managed  to  outwit  the  enemies  of 
France,  and  set  them  all  fighting  one  against  the  other,  so 
that  at  the  end  of  the  fighting  France  was  more  powerful 
than  any  of  them.  Though  he  was  a  cardinal  of  the  Church, 
more  than  once  in  Germany  he  took  the  side  of  the  Protes- 
tants against  the  Catholics,  the  better  to  weaken  both. 
And  at  home,  while  he  captured  the  great  Protestant  town 
of  La  Rochelle  from  the  Huguenots,  after  a  siege  in  which 
hundreds  of  men,  women,  and  children  died  of  hunger,  he 
was  quite  fair  in  dealing  with  the  Huguenot  party,  allow- 
ing no  man  to  be  persecuted  because  of  his  religion.  In 
this  way  he  made  France  a  peaceful  country,  in  wrhich 
every  one  could  attend  to  his  own  business,  and  pray  in 
the  church  he  liked  best,  without  troubling  himself  about 
what  his  neighbor  believed,  or  how  or  where  he  prayed. 
Richelieu  had  no  money  troubles.  With  the  help  of  his 
wise  minister,  Sully,  Henry  the  Fourth  had  left  a  large 
sum  of  money  in  the  treasury  when  he  died.  Richelieu  in- 
creased it,  though  the  people  made  no  complaint  of  being 
over-taxed. 

But,  as  you  may  suppose,  he  could  not  do  all  these 
things  without  making  enemies.  One  of  them  was  the 
young  queen,  Anne,  who  turned  out  a  flirt,  and  was  always 


215 

coquetting  with  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  who  was  her  husband's  brother,  or  some  one  else. 
The  cardinal  watched  her  closely;  she  found  it  out  and 
vowed  vengeance.  From  that  time  plot  succeeded  plot, 
and  it  required  all  the  cardinal's  wit  and  skill  to  defeat 
them. 

The  Duke  of  Orleans  planned  to  murder  the  cardinal  in 
his  own  palace.  The  deed  was  to  be  done  in  the  night. 
Shortly  before  midnight  a  party  of  the  duke's  men-at-arms 
knocked  loudly  at  the  cardinal's  door.  It  was  opened,  and, 
of  all  unexpected  persons,  the  cardinal  himself  stepped  out, 
serene  and  calm. 

"  Ha  !"  said  he,  with  a  wave  of  bis  laced  wristband, 
"  the  duke  deigns  to  pay  me  a  visit.  I  will  go  meet 
him." 

And  stepping  into  a  carriage,  he  drove  off  like  the  wind, 
leaving  the  assassins  staring  at  each  other. 

When  the  duke  awoke  next  morning,  you  may  fancy  his 
surprise  when  he  saw  the  cardinal  standing  by  his  bedside, 
handing  him  his  shirt. 

"  Your  royal  highness's  men,"  said  he  with  a  smile,  "  did 
not  find  the  beast  in  his  lair." 

One  of  the  conspirators  in  this  plot  —  Chalais  —  was 
caught  and  condemned  to  death.  To  prolong  his  life,  his 
friends  gave  the  executioner  a  large  sum  of  money  to  go 
away;  but  another  executioner  was  procured,  who  did  not 
know  his  business,  and  who  chopped  thirty-one  times  at 
the  poor  fellow's  neck  before  he  succeeded  in  cutting  his 
head  off. 

The  cardinal  knew  that  Queen  Anne  was  in  the  plot, 
but  for  the  present  he  was  content  with  a  mild  punishment. 
He  introduced  to  her  a  new  envoy  from  the  pope,  of  the 
name  of  Mazarin ;  you  will  hear  more  of  him  by  and  by. 
"  Madame,"  said  Richelieu,  with  a  bow  and  a  smile,  "  you 
will  doubtless  approve  of  him,  he  is  so  like  the  late  Duke 
of  Buckingham." 

The  old  queen-mother  quarrelled  with  the  cardinal  be- 


216  [1610-1643 

cause  he  would  not  consult  her  about  the  business  of  state. 
She  did  not  do  her  plotting  in  secret,  as  her  daughter-in- 
law  did,  but  went  round  everywhere  howling  that  Riche- 
lieu was  a  knave  and  a  liar  and  a  crocodile,  and  that  he 
ought  to  have  his  head  taken  off  before  supper.  The  car- 
dinal pretended  to  be  very  much  distressed  at  having  lost 
the  favor  of  his  good,  kind  friend  Madame  Mary  of  Med- 
icis,  but  he  went  on  governing  the  counti'y  all  the  same; 
and  the  king,  who  did  not  know  much,  still  knew  enough, 
at  that  time,  to  choose  rightly  between  his  mother  and  the 
cardinal.  Queen  Mary  went  off  boiling  with  spite  and  mut- 
tering that  God  would  repay,  though  he  did  not  pay  every 
week. 

Richelieu  was  satisfied  that  Queen  Anne  was  secretly 
writing  letters  to  her  brothers  in  Spain,  though  Spain  and 
France  were  at  war  at  the  time  ;  his  spies  had  convinced 
him  of  that,  but  he  could  not  get  hold  of  the  letters.  Sud- 
denly, without  any  warning,  he  arrested  her  confidential 
valet,  La  Porte,  and  shut  him  up  in  the  Bastile.  It  chanced 
that  Anne  had  among  her  maids  of  honor  a  beautiful  girl 
named  Marie  d'llautefort,  who  was  so  charming  that  when 
she  was  only  fourteen  the  king  himself  had  fallen  in  love 
with  her,  and  had  pursued  h^r  with  calf-love  until  she  had 
pluckily  told  him  he  did  not  please  her  at  all.  This  Marie, 
who  was  as  brave  as  she  was  pretty,  now  went  to  the  Bas- 
tile in  the  dress  of  a  servant,  and  found  that  La  Porte  was 
in  one  of  the  lowest  dungeons  of  the  prison,  and  that  two 
stories  above  him  a  young  nobleman  of  her  acquaintance, 
named  De  Jars,  was  also  locked  up.  She  got  admission  to 
De  Jars,  and  gave  him  a  paper  on  which  was  written, 

"The  queen  is  in  danger.     Do  not  betray  her." 

De  Jars  broke  a  hole  in  the  floor  of  his  cell  and  passed 
the  paper  to  the  prisoner  below  him,  and  he,  being  a  friend 
of  De  Jars,  broke  a  hole  in  his  floor  likewise  and  lowered 
the  note  down  to  La  Porte. 

Whereby  it  came  that  when  La  Porte  was  examined,  he 
declared  on  his  honor  that  he  had  never  carried  any  let- 


1610-1643]  217 

ters  from  the  queen  to  the  envoys  of  Spain,  had  never  re- 
ceived any  from  them,  and  could  swear  that  no  letters  had 
ever  passed  between  them  and  the  queen.  If  it  had  been 
necessary,  he  would  have  sworn  that  the  queen  had  never 
written  any  letters  to  anybody  and  that  she  didn't  know- 
how  to  write.  The  cardinal,  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff  and 
settling  his  scarlet  velvet  gown  around  him,  remarked  with 
a  sigh,  "  I  wish  I  could  get  as  faithful  a  servant  as  that." 

Another  friend  of  the  queen's,  who  probably  knew  all 
about  the  letters  to  Spain,  was  the  Duchess  of  Chevreuse. 
The  cardinal  locked  her  up  in  a  castle.  One  day,  as  she 
was  driving  through  the  grounds,  she  managed  in  the  car- 
riage to  slip  off  her  clothes,  and  put  on  the  doublet,  hose, 
boots,  and  wig  of  a  man;  then,  with  a  sword  by  her  side, 
she  leaped  from  the  carriage,  ran  to  a  place  where  a  horse 
stood  saddled  and  bridled,  and  rode  to  Bayonne.  A  gen- 
tleman who  met  her  said  as  she  passed, 

"  If  you  were  not  dressed  as  a  cavalier,  I  should  say  you 
were  the  Duchess  of  Chevreuse." 

"  I  have  the  honor,"  said  the  pretended  cavalier,  laugh- 
ing, "to  be  related  to  that  lady";  and  putting  spurs  to  her 
horse,  she  did  not  draw  bridle  till  she  stood  on  Spanish  soil. 

These  narrow  escapes  so  frightened  Queen  Anne  that 
she  sent  for  Richelieu  and  confessed.  The  poor  little 
woman,  trembling  all  over,  and  sobbing  and  crying,  knelt 
at  the  feet  of  the  great  cardinal,  who,  in  his  scarlet  robe, 
with  his  lace  collar,  his  diamond  star,  and  his  lofty  smile, 
looked  like  a  king.  He  knew  how  weak  this  woman  was. 
He  patted  her  on  the  back  as  a  father  might. 

"  Madame,"  said  he,  "  let  the  past  be  forgotten.  But 
conspire  no  more  with  Spain  against  your  country." 

She  swore  by  her  crucifix  that  she  would  not,  and  then 
she  went  on  conspiring  just  as  before.  The  cardinal  knew 
that  she  would,  and  he  bought  her  servants,  and  read  every 
letter  she  wrote,  and  knew  of  every  plot  she  made  as  soon 
as  it  was  formed. 

he.r  husband  was  inconstant  as  a  weathercock, 


218  [1610-1643 

Sometimes  he  declared  that  he  would  not  be  king  if  he 
had  not  the  cardinal  to  advise  him.  Then  again  he  would 
wring  his  hands  and  whine,  "  Will  nobody  rid  me  of  this 
terrible  priest  ?" 

Richelieu  felt  that  he  was  not  safe  unless  he  had  a  faith- 
ful friend  near  the  king's  person.  For  that  work  he  chose 
a  handsome,  dashing  young  fellow  named  Cinq-Mars.  The 
two  young  men  became  fast  friends.  Cinq-Mars  taught 
Louis  how  to  catch  magpies  and  how  to  train  dogs  ;  they 
carved  wooden  toys  together,  and  sometimes  they  went 
into  the  royal  kitchen  and  made  candy,  under  the  direction 
of  the  royal  cook.  The  king  grew  as  fond  of  the  young 
man  as  a  boy  is  of  his  sweetheart;  he  made  him  a  member 
of  his  privy  council.  This  was  too  much  for  the  cardinal. 
He  required  the  king  to  revoke  the  appointment.  Then 
Cinq-Mars,  like  the  others,  began  to  plot  against  the  man 
who  had  made  him. 

If  he  had  been  wise,  he  would  have  taken  warning  by 
the  end  of  Mary  of  Medicis.  That  terrible  old  woman  had 
gone  too  far  at  last,  and  the  knave  and  crocodile  had  turned 
upon  her  and  sent  her  into  exile  in  Germany.  Neither 
England  nor  Holland  nor  Spain  dared  receive  her.  By 
the  cardinal's  advice  her  son  Louis  broke  with  her  and  re- 
fused to  send  her  money.  There  were  times  when  she  had 
not  a  meal  a  day,  nor  money  to  buy  firewood  to  keep  her 
warm.  She  chopped  up  her  table  and  chairs  to  make  a 
fire.  When  the  end  came,  she  told  her  confessor  that  she 
forgave  her  enemies ;  but  when  he  advised  her  to  send  a 
ring  to  Richelieu  in  token  of  forgiveness,  she  answered, 
"  That  is  too  much,"  and  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and 
died. 

The  other  queen,  Anne,  had  learned  her  lesson  at  last, 
and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  Cinq-Mars  and  his 
plots  ;  but  the  Duke  of  Orleans  and  other  revengeful  court- 
iers begged  to  be  counted  in.  In  the  old  way,  they  made 
a  treacherous  treaty  with  Spain,  and,  likewise  in  the  old 
way,  the  cardinal  found,  it  out  and  got  a  copy  ef  the  treaty, 


1610-1643]  219 

which  he  sent  to  the  king.  Cinq-Mars  soon  received  word 
that  he  had  been  found  out.  He  hastened  to  the  kins,  but 

O  ' 

Louis  would  not  see  him.  "  His  soul,"  said  the  king,  hold- 
ing up  a  frying-pan  in  which  he  was  making  candy,  "  is 
as  black  as  the  bottom  of  this  pan." 

So  he  was  arrested,  tried,  and  convicted  of  high  treason, 
as  also  was  his  friend  De  Thou.  He  was  sentenced  to  be 
put  to  the  torture,  but  just  as  he  was  taking  off  his  doublet 
an  order  came  from  the  cardinal  to  leave  out  this  part  of 
the  sentence.  He  stepped  with  firm  tread  to  the  courtyard 
of  the  castle  of  Pierre  Encise,  and  refused  to  have  his  eyes 
bandaged.  Seeing  the  block,  he  marched  silently  to  it, 
threw  off  his  cloak,  knelt  down,  and  bent  his  neck  to  the 
headsman,  who,  with  a  single  blow  of  his  axe,  put  an  end 
to  his  life.  He  was  just  twenty-two  years  of  age,  and  the 
darling  of  the  fair  ladies  of  the  court. 

"  Now,"  said  the  cardinal  to  the  king,  "  I  think  your 
majesty  will  have  peace." 

Louis  sighed  and  made  no  answer.  Both  he  and  the 
cardinal  had  had  warnings  that  a  life  of  turmoil  is  seldom 
long.  Richelieu  was  very  ill  ;  at  times  his  pains  seemed 
more  than  he  could  bear.  He  took  great  care  of  himself. 
When  he  travelled  he  went  by  water,  if  he  could,  in  a 
splendid  barge,  which  was  escorted  by  a  fleet  of  small 
boats  full  of  priests,  physicians,  men-at-arms,  servants, 
and  wine,  rich  food,  and  delicacies  ;  on  each  shore  a  squad- 
ron of  cavalry  escorted  the  barge.  When  he  could  not 
travel  by  water  he  was  carried  in  a  litter,  which  was  borne 
by  twelve  gentlemen  of  his  guard,  who  marched  bare- 
headed. It  was  covered  with  damask,  and  was  so  large 
that,  besides  the  cardinal,  it  contained  a  bed,  a  couch,  a 
table,  a  mirror,  and  a  chair  for  his  secretary.  When  it 
came  to  a  walled  lane  which  was  too  narrow  to  let  it  pass, 
the  walls  were  broken  down  ;  and  where  it  had  to  be  taken 
into  a  house,  it  did  not  enter  by  the  door,  but  a  hole  was 
broken  in  the  wall,  and  the  litter  was  hauled  up  an  inclined 
plane  with  ropes. 


220 

When  the  cardinal  reached  Paris,  after  the  trial  of  Cinq- 
Mars,  he  was  very  ill  indeed.  He  sent  for  the  king  and 
took  his  leave  of  him. 

"  Sire,"  said  the  dying  man,  "  I  bid  you  adieu  forever 
in  this  world.  I  leave  you  a  kingdom  more  powerful  than 
ever.  To  retain  it  you  have  only  to  choose  your  council- 
lors wisely." 

The  king  left  the  death-bed  and  strolled  through  the 
cardinal's  picture-gallery,  making  remarks  about  the  pict- 
ures. A  doctor  arriving,  the  cardinal  asked  him, 

"  How  long  have  I  to  live?    Tell  me  the  plain  truth." 

"  Monsignor,"  answered  the  physician,  "  in  twenty-four 
hours  you  will  be  dead  or  cured." 

He  died  next  day  at  noon.  Word  was  sent  to  the  king, 
who  quietly  observed, 

"  He  was  a  great  politician." 

Four  months  afterward  Louis  lay  dying  himself.  "I 
am  soon  going,"  he  said,  "  to  lay  my  bones  in  St.  Denis. 
It  will  be  a  hard  journey,  for  the  roads  are  bad."  He 
grew  peevish.  His  bedroom  was  full  of  courtiers  who  came 
to  ask  after  his  health.  They  annoyed  him,  as  you  might 
imagine.  He  said, 

"  These  gentry  come  to  see  how  I  shall  die.  If  I  should 
get  better,  I  will  make  them  repent  their  curiosity." 

His  wife  Anne,  who  was  true  and  tender  to  him  at  the 
last,  never  left  him.  When  the  doctor  said,  "  I  can  feel 
no  more  pulse,"  she  clasped  her  arms  round  him,  and  thus, 
at  the  age  of  forty-two,  on  May  14th,  1643,  he  breathed 
his  last,  with  his  head  on  her  breast. 

He  had  been  King  of  France  for  thirty-three  years.  But, 
if  it  had  not  been  his  good  fortune  to  have  a  minister  like 
Richelieu,  you  would  have  had  no  more  reason  to  remem- 
ber him  than  you  have  to  recall  the  names  of  the  feeble 
and  worthless  kings  whose  story  I  have  told  you.  Under 
Richelieu,  France  became  the  greatest  power  in  Europe, 
and  this  was  due  to  his  wisdom,  his  boldness,  and  his  pru- 
dence. But  he  had  no  idea  of  liberty  ;  it  never  occurred 


LAST   MEETING   OF   THE   STATES-GENERAL 


to  him  that  no  nation  can  be  really  great  unless  it  be 
free. 

From  the  beginning  of  history  the  French  had  taken  a 
small  share  in  governing  themselves  through  the  States- 
General,  in  which  the  nobles,  the  clergy,  and  the  people 
were  represented  ;  and  besides  this,  each  province  had  a 


222  [1610-1643 

parliament,  which  chiefly  occupied  itself  with  lawsuits. 
These  were  not  very  formidable  bodies  when  they  were 
opposed  to  the  king  ;  but,  such  as  they  were,  they  kept 
alive  the  idea  of  freedom.  Cardinal  Richelieu  crushed 
them  out  of  existence.  He  took  all  power  into  his  own 
hands,  and  scoffed  at  the  idea  of  sharing  it  with  any  one. 
I  make  no  doubt  that  in  so  acting  he  paved  the  way  for 
the  explosion  which  came  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  after 
his  time.  If  he  had  left  the  French  some  show  of  liberty, 
perhaps  they  might  not  have  been  so  rabid  to  grasp  the 
reality,  and  to  avenge  themselves  on  those  who  had  so  long 
kept  them  out  of  their  own. 

When  you  think  of  him,  you  must  give  him  credit  for 
having  used  his  power  to  encourage  French  letters,  sci- 
ence, and  art.  Before  him  France  lagged  behind  other 
nations.  Italy  had  long  before  produced  books  which  you 
may  read  with  pleasure  to-day  ;  Spain  had  given  birth  to 
Cervantes  and  Lope  de  Vega ;  Shakespeare's  plays  were 
being  performed  in  London  when  Richelieu  was  a  little  boy. 
While  France  was  devoted  to  religious  wars,  nothing  else 
was  thought  of.  When  peace  came,  through  the  Edict  of 
Nantes,  poets,  philosophers,  and  men  of  science  arose. 
Richelieu  encouraged  them  all. 

He  founded  the  French  Academy,  which  is  in  full  vigor 
to-day,  and  has  counted  among  its  members  the  greatest 
writers  in  France.  He  established  the  Garden  of  Plants, 
which  contains  to-day,  as  it  has  always  contained,  the  largest 
collection  of  beasts,  birds,  reptiles,  and  plants  in  the  world. 
He  rebuilt  the  Sorbonne,  the  great  school  where  the  science 
of  the  human  mind  was  studied.  He  founded  the  Royal 
Printing-office.  He  encouraged  the  Society  of  the  Hotel 
Rambouillet,  which  counted  among  its  members  all  who 
were  witty  and  wise  in  France.  Under  him  Corneille, 
Ronsard,  and  Malherbe  began  to  create  French  poetry, 
and  Pascal  and  Descartes  taught  the  French  how  to  write 
prose.  Before  the  time  of  Richelieu,  the  deepest  thinkers 
of  the  day,  such  as  Erasmus  and  Bacon,  wrote  in  Latin. 


THE  HOLY  CHAPEL  AT  PARIS 


Montaigne,  Calvin,  Rabelais,  Amyot,  and  otber  Huguenots 
set  the  example  of  writing  in  French.  Richelieu  encour- 
aged the  practice,  and  it  was  under  him  that  the  French 
language  first  became  what  it  is — a  language  which  you 
will  love  the  more  the  better  you  understand  it. 

When  you  weigh  the  cardinal  in  the  balance,  you  must 
offset  his  treason  to  liberty  with  his  great  services  to  the 
cause  of  human  knowledge. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

CARDINAL    MAZARIN 

A.D.  1643-1651 

AT  the  death  of  Louis  the  Thirteenth,  his  widow,  Anne 
of  Austria,  became  regent,  and  chose  for  her  chief  coun- 
sellor the  Italian  Cardinal  Mazarin,  rather  to  the  chagrin 
of  the  proud  French  nobles,  the  Duke  of  Orleans  and  the 
Prince  of  Conde.  She  took  her  little  son,  who  was  a  fair- 
haired,  handsome  boy  of  four,  to  the  Parliament  of  Paris, 
and  the  child,  standing  on  a  stool,  bowed  his  little  head, 
and  gave  the  members  of  the  parliament  his  little  hand  to 
kiss. 

At  first  all  went  smoothly,  but  before  long  disputes 
arose  between  Mazarin  and  the  parliament  on  the  subject 
of  taxes.  France  was  carrying  on  expensive  wars  in  Ger- 
many and  Spain,  and  the  cardinal  had  to  provide  money, 
which  he  could  only  do  by  laying  fresh  taxes  ;  the  people 
refused  to  pay  the  taxes,  and  in  some  places  broke  out^n 
revolt.  The  rioters  were  called  frondeurs,  or  slingers,  from 
the  frondes,  or  slings,  which  Paris  boys  used  in  their  street 
squabbles.  They  had  the  parliament  on  their  side,  with 
old,  bald-headed,  long-bearded  Matthieu  Mole,  who  was  as 
bold  as  a  lion,  at  its  head,  and  among  its  leaders  an  in- 
trepid member  named  Broussel.  When  the  regent  sent 
orders  to  the  parliament  to  do  this  and  do  that,  Broussel 
declared  flatly  that  he  would  not  obey  them. 

That  afternoon,  as  he  was  quietly  dining  with  his  son 
and  daughter  in  his  house,  in  a  narrow  street  near  the 
Seine,  the  lieutenant  of  the  guard  and  a  body  of  soldiers 
broke  in,  seized  him,  and  carried  him  off.  An  old  woman 
who  kept  BrQussel's.  house  mbed,  to  the  window,  crying, 


1643-1651]  227 

"  Help  !  Help  !  Rescue  the  father  of  the  people  ! 
Help  !" 

Every  man  threw  down  his  tools  and  ran  toward  the 
Palais  Royal.  By  the  time  they  got  there  they  were  such 
a  crowd  that  the  Swiss  troops  let  them  break  their  ranks, 
and  the  palace  was  surrounded  by  a  surging  mass  of  peo- 
ple shouting, 

"Give  us  Broussel  !     We  must  have  Broussel !" 

Anne,  at  whose  side  stood  Mazarin,  declared  with  set 
teeth  and  scornful  eyes  that  she  would  never  give  him  up 
— never,  never ! 

"Then,  madame,"  said  Marshal  Meilleraye,  "by  to-mor- 
row there  will  not  be  a  stone  left  of  all  the  buildings  in 
Paris." 

That  night  twelve  hundred  barricades  arose  in  the  streets 
of  Paris,  one  of  them  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  Palais 
Royal.  Still  Anne  held  out.  It  was  not  till  Mattbieu 
Mole  took  her  by  the  hand,  showed  her  her  little  son  play- 
ing in  the  courtyard,  and  said,  "That  child  is  losing  hia. 
crown,"  that  she  burst  into  tears  and  flounced  into  her 
room.  Then  Mazarin  issued  an  order  for  the  release  of 
Broussel.  Paris  went  wild  when  he  appeared  in  the  streets ; 
he  was  hoisted  on  men's  shoulders,  and  carried  round 
through  crowds,  which  threw  up  their  hats  and  shouted 
"  Bi'oussel !  Broussel !  welcome  back  !" 

This  was  the  first  victory  of  the  people  over  the  throne; 
you  will  hear  of  more  such  before  you  finish  this  book. 

For  the  time  the  storm  was  over.  But  the  square-caps, 
as  the  members  of  the  parliament  were  called,  did  not  love 
the  cardinal  any  the  more  for  their  victory,  and  the  proud 
nobles,  the  Prince  of  Conde  and  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  hated 
him  worse  than  ever.  The  Prince  of  Conde  wrote  him  a 
letter,  in  which  he  addressed  him  as  "most  worshipful 
flunky,"  and  the  people  hooted  him  when  he  appeared  in 
the  streets.  After  a  time  Anne  and  he  grew  tired  of  this 
treatment,  and  secretly  slipped  out  of  Paris  by  night  with 
the  boy-king. 


228  [1643-1651 

They  fled  to  St.  Germain,  where  the  palace  was  very 
grand,  but  as  there  were  no  sashes  in  the  windows,  they 
were  boarded  up  ;  there  was  no  firewood,  there  were  no 
bedsteads,  so  that  even  the  ladies  had  to  sleep  on  mat- 
tresses on  the  floor,  and  the  rats  were  so  numerous  that 
they  had  to  send  back  to  Paris  for  cats.  The  Prince  of 
Conde,  who  was  at  St.  Germain,  threatened  to  besiege 
Paris.  In  order  not  to  be  behindhand  with  him  the  fron- 
deurs  took  the  Bastile. 

Then  followed  a  number  of  skirmishes,  which  had  no 
result  except  to  cost  the  lives  of  people  who  cared  little 
either  for  the  cardinal  or  for  the  Fronde  and  to  stop  all 
business  in  Paris.  This  led  to  sober  thought,  and  after  a 
time  the  people,  who  wanted  no  more  wars,  invited  the 
queen  to  come  back.  She  came,  and  Mazarin  got  back  to 
power,  though  the  boys  of  Paris  still  shouted,  when  they 
saw  him  in  the  street, 

"Down  with  Mazarin!  Down  with  Mazarin,  the  Italian 
cardinal  !" 

Seven  figures,  stuffed  with  straw,  and  in  cardinal's  robes, 
were  hung  to  lamp-posts,  and  two  oil  paintings,  nailed  on 
one  of  the  bridges,  showed  the  Italian  with  a  rope  round 
his  neck,  and  a  list  of  his  crimes  written  out  underneath. 

The  vindictive  Italian  struck  at  his  enemies  by  impris- 
oning the  Prince  of  Conde  and  the  Duke  of  Longueville. 
At  this  the  quarrel  burst  out  as  fiercely  as  ever;  the  par- 
liament passed  a  vote  that  Mazarin  should  be  sent  into 
exile,  and  he,  feigning  to  submit,  left  Paris  and  went  to 
Brussels.  The  people  imagined  that  the  queen  had  gone 
with  him  and  had  taken  the  king  with  her.  They  broke 
into  the  Palais  Royal,  and  a  mob  of  ragamuffins  forced 
their  way  into  the  splendid  bedchamber  where  the  boy- 
king  slept,  under  gorgeous  curtains  and  with  tall  mirrors 
on  every  side.  There  they  saw  him  soundly  sleeping  on 
his  pillow,  and  they  went  out  on  tiptoe.  Then  the  people 
went  home  and  slept  soundly  too,  feeling  that  the  cardinal 
was  gone,  and  that  the  king  was  not, 


1643-1651] 


229 


The  sleep  was  followed  by  a  sharp  awakening.  Mazarin 
came  back.  The  parliament  offered  a  reward  of  a  hun- 
dred thousand  crowns  for  his  capture,  dead  or  alive.  He 
captured  his  would-be  captors  and  put  them  in  jail.  He 
came  leisurely  on  to  Paris ;  the  queen  and  her  son  went 
to  meet  him  and  escort  him  to  his  palace  ;  the  parliament 
gave  up  the  struggle  against  him  ;  he  took  charge  of  the 
government  as  before,  and  held  r  ill  he  died  of  gout,  on 
March  9th,  1661,  at  the  age  ot  tUy-nine.  He  had  been 
eighteen  years  in  power,  and  had  made  so  much  money 
that  his  income  was  larger  than  the  king's. 


BARRICADES  AT   FORTE   ST.  ANTOINE   IS    THE   CIVIL   WAR  OF   THE 
FRONDE 


LOUIS    XIV 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

LOUIS  THE   FOURTEENTH 
A.D.  1651-1680 

AT  daybreak  on  the  morning  of  the  7th  of  September, 
1651,  the  cannon  of  the  Bastile,  the  Arsenal,  and  the  forts 
round  Paris  began  to  thunder  ;  at  eight,  Queen  Anne,  with 
the  members  of  the  royal  family  and  of  the  court,  entered 
the  chamber  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  to  congi-atulate  him 
on  his  coming  of  age.  The  boy  was  but  fourteen,  but  he 
was  grave  as  he  leaned  on  the  brass  rail  of  his  bed  to  re- 


1651-1680]  231 

ceive  them  ;  he  would  have  been  handsome  if  his  face  had 
not  been  scarred  by  small-pox.  lie  walked  through  a  lane 
of  noblemen  and  soldiers  to  the  street,  mounted  his  horse, 
and,  after  stopping  on  the  way  to  hear  mass,  rode  to  the 
Parliament  Chamber.  There  he  informed  the  members 
that  he  intended  to  take  the  government  into  his  own 
hands,  and  that  he  would  acquaint  them  with  his  pleasure. 
This,  from  a  boy  of  fourteen,  would  in  our  time  be  regarded 
as  bold.  But  the  French  found  no  fault  with  it. 

They  did  not  like  it  so  well  when  Louis  again  appeared 
before  the  parliament  some  months  later,  informed  them 
that  they  were  not  to  meet  again,  and  then  stepped  out, 
without  waiting  for  an  answer.  But  they  made  no  sign. 

From  his  early  youth  Louis  was  lord  of  all  he  surveyed. 
When  he  was  asked  who  would  be  his  prime  minister  after 
Mazarin,  he  answered,  "I  will  be  my  own  minister."  When 
some  one  spoke  of  the  state,  he  sneered,  "  I  am  the  state." 
He  regulated  his  life  by  strict  rules.  He  got  up  at  eight. 
While  his  valets  were  dressing  him,  and  combing  the  mon- 
strous wig  which  he  wore  to  make  himself  look  taller,  the 
best  and  bravest  and  brightest  people  in  France  were  ad- 
mitted to  his  room  to  tell  him  the  news,  to  fawn  upon  him, 
to  flatter  him,  and  liken  him  to  the  heroes  of  ancient  his- 
tory. At  ten  he  attended  a  council ;  at  noon  he  heard 
mass  ;  at  one  he  dined,  always  alone,  and  dukes  and  mar- 
quises and  barons  waited  on  his  table.  It  happened  one 
day,  as  he  was  sitting  down  to  table,  that  the  great  Mo- 
liere,  whose  comedies  are  still  famous,  was  in  the  room. 
Moliere  had  been  snubbed  by  the  courtiers.  To  give  them 
a  lesson,  the  king  begged  him  to  sit  down,  and  helped  him 
to  a  chicken-wing.  The  court  almost  went  into  convul- 
sions ;  one  great  lord  nearly  fainted  on  the  spot. 

In  the  evening  Louis  supped  with  the  ladies  of  the  fam- 
ily and  his  court,  and  they  had  a  merry  time.  At  the 
council  of  state  he  was  stiff  and  dignified ;  he  took  his  seat 
majestically  ;  the  ministers  did  not  dare  to  sit  down,  but 
stood  round  the  table.  But  with  fair  marquises  and  count- 


232  [1651-1680 

esses  around  him,  he  could  simper  and  smile  and  flirt. 
You  would  not  think  to-day  that  his  company  was  very 
choice.  The  ladies  wore  their  hair  combed  back  from  their 
foreheads,  and  powdered  ;  their  heads  were  hidden  under 
hats  like  diadems,  and  their  hoops  swung  to  and  fro  when 
they  walked.  They  were  so  bold  that  they  looked  like 
boys  in  disguise,  and  sometimes  they  talked  like  very  rude 
boys.  The  men  wore  pigtails,  powder,  and  patches  ;  from 
their  wristbands  and  the  knees  of  their  breeches  hung  long 
lace  frills.  If  the  ladies  looked  like  boys,  the  gentlemen 
looked  like  girls  at  a  masquerade. 

The  best  people  in  France  crouched  at  the  king's  feet. 
A  smile  from  him  made  them  happy  ;  a  frown  plunged 
them  into  despair.  They  worshipped  him,  toadied  to  him, 
basked  in  the  light  of  his  eyes.  The  greatest  men  in  the 
kingdom,  thinkers  who  were  famous,  poets  whose  verses 
were  in  every  one's  mouth,  soldiers  who  had  won  battles, 
nobles  whose  ancestors  had  been  at  the  Crusades,  fought 
with  each  other  for  the  honor  of  holding  the  king's  candle 
when  valets  took  off  his  clothes  at  bed-time.  When  he 
was  in  bed,  the  haughtiest  dames  and  the  fairest  girls  in 
France  sat  at  his  bedside  reading  to  him.  All  were  splen- 
didly dressed  and  beautifully  mannered.  Everybody  spent 
money  like  water.  Carriages  had  come  into  use  in  Paris 
with  Henry  the  Fourth.  That  valiant  soldier,  who  rode 
into  battle  with  a  smile,  never  dared  ride  in  one,  for  fear  of 
being  upset.  But  under  Louis  the  Fourteenth  rich  people 
kept  gorgeous  carriages,  and  drove  prancing  horses  with 
golden  harness  through  the  streets,  which,  as  there  were  no 
sidewalks,  was  not  pleasant  for  people  who  were  on  foot. 

In  the  year  1660,  when  Louis  was  twenty-two,  he  mar- 
ried Maria  Theresa  of  Spain.  She  was  rather  good-look- 
ing, though  short ;  her  teeth  were  bad — there  were  no 
dentists  in  those  days — her  hair  was  fair,  her  eyes  blue, 
and  her  complexion  perfect.  The  Spanish  fashions  of  that 
day  were  queer.  Maria  Theresa  wore  at  her  betrothal  a 
white  dress  with  heavy  gold  ornaments  and  a  huge  white 


1651-1680]  233 

cap,  while  her  ladies  in  waiting  wore  low  dresses  which 
showed  their  skinny  necks  ;  they  had  quantities  of  false 
hair,  and  enormous  hoops  which  wobbled  as  they  walked. 

The  poor  queen  did  not  have  a  happy  life.  Louis  treated 
her  coldly  and  neglected  her  for  other  ladies  ;  her  jealousy 
affected  her  mind,  so  that  she  became  half-witted.  She 
lived,  however,  twenty-three  years  as  Queen  of  France,  and 
when  she  died  she  begged  her  husband  with  her  last  breath 
to  marry  Madame  de  Maintenon.  This  was  a  lady  of  fifty, 
who  had  been  married  in  her  youth  to  a  cripple,  and  had 
outlived  him.  She  possessed  uncommon  judgment  and 
tact,  and  had  completely  mastered  the  king  by  devoting 
herself  to  his  service  and  never  annoying  him  by  jeal- 
ousy. Louis  married  her,  as  his  wife  had  bidden  him  ;  but 
the  marriage  was  kept  a  secret,  and  Madame  de  Maintenon 
never  took  the  title  of  queen.  She  did  not  make  much  by 
her  grand  marriage.  For  thirty  years  she  was  the  slave 
and  nurse  of  a  crabbed,  selfish  tyrant,  who  was  always 
either  flirting  with  young  girls,  or  sitting  silent  and  morose 
in  his  arm-chair,  or  whining  for  medicines  for  some  new 
ailment.  When  Louis  died,  she  went  to  live  at  a  country 
place,  and  was  as  soon  forgotten  as  if  she  had  never  been 
mistress  of  France. 

Louis  had  not  been  long  on  the  throne  before  he  began 
to  yearn  for  glory.  He  dreamed  of  blood  and  battles 
and  triumphal  marches  and  plains  strewed  with  the  dead. 
It  probably  never  occurred  to  him  that  war  would  waste 
the  lives  and  the  substance  of  his  people.  Indeed,  I  fancy 
he  never  thought  of  his  people  at  all.  He  wanted  to  figure 
in  history  as  a  conqueror,  like  Alexander  the  Great,  or 
Caesar.  For  nearly  fifty  years,  with  some  short  intervals, 
he  followed  his  bent,  and  made  war  in  turn  on  the  Eng- 
lish, the  Dutch,  the  Germans,  and  the  Spaniards.  He  de- 
clared war  on  England  in  1666,  just  as  his  mother  was 
dying.  The  peace  of  Utrecht,  which  ended  the  wars,  was 
signed  in  1713.  By  all  these  wars  France  gained  but  a 
few  scraps  qf  territory,  which.  a.d.ded  noting  to  her  great* 


234  [1651-1680 

ness.  She  would  not  have  gained  these  but  for  the  genius 
of  her  great  generals — Turenne,  the  great  Conde,  Vauban, 
Luxembourg,  and  others.  What  she  lost  I  have  now  to 
tell  you. 

When  Louis  became  king,  he  found  that  the  money  mat- 
ters of  the  kingdom  were  in  the  hands  of  a  thief  named 
Fouquet,  who,  like  Mazarin,  made  an  immense  fortune,  and 
gave  parties  at  which  every  guest  found  a  purse  of  gold  on 
his  dressing-table  for  use  in  the  card-room.  Louis  got  rid 
of  him,  and  set  over  his  treasury  a  wise  minister  named 
Colbert.  It  was  Colbert's  business  to  find  money  to  carry 
on  the  king's  wars. 

This  he  did  ;  but  it  broke  his  heart,  and  brought  his 
gray  hairs  to  a  miserable  grave.  He  lived  to  see  one  tenth 
of  the  whole  people  get  their  bread  by  begging.  Persons 
who  could  not  afford  to  eat  meat  themselves  were  forced 
to  buy  meat  to  feed  soldiers  who  were  quartered  on  them. 
That  noble  priest,  Archbishop  Fenelon,  told  the  king  to  his 
face  that  he  had  made  France  one  great  hospital.  Every 
able-bodied  man  was  forced  into  the  army,  and  there  was 
no  one  to  till  the  fields  or  to  work  in  factories  or  wait  in 
shops.  Riots  round  the  bakers'  stores  were  every-day  af- 
fairs. The  farmers'  cattle  had  been  seized  and  sold  for 
taxes.  In  one  place,  while  a  farmer  was  burying  his  dead 
wife,  a  tax-collector  broke  into  his  house,  wounded  him, 
beat  his  maid-servant  with  a  stick,  and  killed  his  daughter. 
The  peasants  were  driven  to  eat  the  grass  of  the  fields  and 
the  bark  of  trees. 

All  this  while  Louis  was  not  only  carrying  on  mon- 
strously expensive  wars,  but  was  building  a  palace  at  Ver- 
sailles which  you  can  see  to  this  day — it  cost  over  a  hundred 
and  fifty  millions  of  livres — a  palace  at  Marli,  a  castle  at 
St.  Germain,  any  number  of  splendid  residences  in  Paris 
for  himself  and  his  friends,  public  buildings  for  glory,  four 
or  five  triumphal  arches,  and  was  completing  the  Louvre. 
He  did  not  even  stint  himself  in  his  private  expenses.  On 
a  little  junket  of  a  few  days  which  he  took  to  Versailles 


"#7 

^Bfefc 

JHal^i-^MRf-'S  I 

RjK&Bi&H!.,™ 

:  "'          .        • 


MADAME  DE  MAINTENON 


1651-1680]  237 

he  spent  about  sixty  thousand  dollars  of  our  money,  one 
half  of  which  went  in  gambling.  One  of  the  king's  lady 
friends  lost  a  million  livres  one  night  at  cards,  another 
spent  twenty  thousand  dollars  on  Christmas  presents.  I 
need  not  tell  you  that  when  the  king  and  the  court  set  such 
an  example  of  reckless  waste  and  brutal  indifference  to  the 
sufferings  of  the  people,  society  was  sure  to  become  wicked 
and  rotten.  In  this  case  the  rottenness  showed  itself  in  a 
peculiar  way.  A  curious  epidemic  of  poisoning  broke  out. 

The  story  goes  that  the  first  poisoners  came  from  Italy. 
I  do  not  know  how  this  may  be.  But  it  is  certain  that 
Henrietta  of  England,  wife  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  drank 
a  glass  of  succory  water,  and  immediately  turned  pale  with 
agony.  They  would  not  let  her  have  the  physician  she 
wanted.  A  canon  of  the  Church  called  to  confess  her  ;  he 
advised  her  to  submit  to  the  will  of  God.  Some  courtiers 
came,  and  made  light  of  her  pains.  Her  husband  was  sur- 
prised, but  did  not  stay  with  her.  The  only  one  who  re- 
mained by  her  side  was  the  great  preacher  Bossuet,  who 
was  with  her  when  she  expired,  the  day  after  she  had  drunk 
the  glass  of  water.  It  was  given  out  at  the  court  that  she 
had  died  of  cholera. 

Then  other  persons  of  high  rank  died  under  surprising 
circumstances,  and  in  every  case  after  a  short  illness.  Sud- 
den deaths  became  so  common  that  the  government  created 
a  special  court,  called  the  Burning  Chapel,  to  look  into  them. 
This  court  caused  the  arrest  of  a  woman  whose  name  was 
Marie  de  Brinvilliers,  and  who  was  a  marquise  and  surpris- 
ingly beautiful.  Her  story  was  horrible.  After  her  mar- 
riage she  fell  in  love  with  a  man  who  was  said  to  have 
learned  from  an  Italian  the  way  to  make  a  famous  poison, 
then  called  aqua  tofana,  which  was  in  reality  a  solution 
of  arsenic.  He  told  the  secret  to  Marie. 

She  tried  it  on  her  chambermaid,  and  on  sick  people  in 
the  hospitals,  and,  finding  it  answer,  she  poisoned  her  fa- 
ther, her  two  brothers,  and  her  child.  She  then  took  to 
poisoning  from  pure  love  of  the  thing,  and  put  to  death  a 


238  [1651-1680 

number  of  people  whom  she  did  not  know  and  whom  she 
h;id  no  reason  to  hate.  She  was  caught  by  a  policeman 
who  disguised  himself  as  a  priest,  and  wormed  out  of  her 
many  secrets  when  she  went  to  confess.  She  retracted  her 
confessions  before  the  Burning  Chapel.  But  when  she  was 
laid  on  an  iron  bed  in  the  torture-chamber,  and  the  ropes 
round  the  pulleys  began  to  pull  her  beautiful  arms  and  legs 
out  of  their  sockets,  she  screamed,  and  confessed  every- 
thing. She  had  put  to  death  an  astonishing  number  of 
people,  and  Paris  rejoiced  when  she  was  led  limping  from 
the  torture-chamber  to  the  stake  and  was  burned  alive. 

Another  female  poisoner,  you  may  be  surprised  to  hear, 
was  Olympia  di  Mancini,  niece  of  Cardinal  Mazarin.  She 
was  summoned  to  appear  before  the  Burning  Chapel,  but 
refused,  and  fled  to  Spain.  Her  reputation  had  gone  before 
her,  and  neither  the  king  nor  the  Court  of  Spain  was  glad 
to  see  her.  After  a  time  they  relented.  She  became  inti- 
mate with  the  queen,  and  one  day  her  majesty  took  a  glass 
of  milk  from  her  hand.  The  queen  only  lived  a  few  hours. 
The  Spanish  police  tried  to  catch  the  murderess,  but  she 
fled. 

You  will  not  perhaps  be  sorry  to  hear  that  this  wicked 
woman  wandered  through  Europe  for  twenty-seven  years, 
hunted  out  of  place  after  place  when  people  learned  who 
she  was.  She  had  not  a  friend  in  the  world,  and  in  her 
old  age  she  had  not  a  penny. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

MORE    PERSECUTION1    OF  THE   HUGUENOTS 

A.D.  1680-1715 
ABOUT  the  time  when  Louis  the  Fourteenth  was  beiner 

O 

assured  by  his  courtiers  that  he  was  a  greater  warrior  than 
Caesar,  a  greater  statesman  than  Charlemagne,  and  a  greater 
monarch  than  had  ever  before  lived,  it  occurred  to  him 
that  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  crush  out  the  Huguenots, 
and  to  have  but  one  religion  in  his  kingdom. 

At  first,  his  idea  was  to  break  down  the  Protestants  by 
dt-grees.  He  told  his  officers  that  Protestantism  was  a 
malady  caused  by  hot  blood,  which  should  be  treated  with 
gentleness  rather  than  with  severity.  Thus,  he  let  the 
Huguenots  pray  in  their  own  churches  and  in  thsir  own 
way;  but  he  forbade  their  becoming  lawyers  or  doctors  or 
members  of  the  parliament.  In  those  days,  there  were  no 
barracks  for  soldiers  ;  the  men  were  quartered  on  citizens, 
who  had  to  lodge  and  feed  them.  Louis  ordered  that  sol- 
diers should  be  quartered  on  Huguenots  rather  than  on 
Catholics.  As  the  soldiers  were  often  ruffians,  who  mal- 
treated the  household  that  housed  them,  stole  all  they  could 
lay  their  hands  on,  and  in  case  of  remonstrance  beat  those 
they  robbed,  it  was  a  cruel  hardship  to  have  them  as  lodg- 
ers. The  troopers  sometimes  made  things  pleasant  for  the 
family  which  boarded  them  by  beating  drums  day  and 
night,  the  drummers  relieving  each  other  at  intervals,  so 
that  nobody  could  sleep. 

By  annoying  the  Huguenots  in  this  and  other  ways,  by 
seizing  their  ministers  and  thrusting  them  into  jail,  and 
torturing  some  into  submission,  the  king  induced  many 
Huguenots  to  recant  their  religion  and  become  Catholics, 


240  [1680-1715 

Madame  de  Maintenon,  who  had  become  very  pious  and 
thought  a  Huguenot  had  no  right  to  live,  felt  sure  that 
Louis  was  going  to  bring  back  all  his  subjects  into  the 
Church.  She  was  well  seconded  by  a  minister  of  the  king 
named  Louvois.  But  still  there  remained  a  few  thousand 
Huguenots  whom  neither  persecution  could  subdue  nor 
danger  shake,  and  who  stood  firm  by  their  religion  through 
all.  To  overcome  these,  Louis  the  Fourteenth  revoked  the 
Edict  of  Nantes — which  Henry  the  Fourth  had  issued  to  be 
forever  a  guarantee  of  religious  freedom  in  France.  The 
revocation  was  made  known  on  the  17th  of  October,  1685; 
the  edict  had  given  peace  to  France  for  eighty -seven 
years.  When  it  was  repealed,  Protestants  had  no  rights 
whatever.  They  were  forbidden  to  pray.  Their  churches 
and  chapels  were  torn  down.  Their  ministers  were  locked 
up  in  filthy  dungeons.  Their  children  were  baptized  by 
force  by  the  Catholic  priests.  And  finally  they  were  for- 
bidden to  leave  the  kingdom.  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who 
was  the  king's  adviser  in  all  this  business,  said  that  she 
intended  to  make  the  Huguenots  ridiculous.  It  was,  I 
think,  France  that  was  made  ridiculous  in  the  end. 

In  Languedoc  the  women  were  fiery ;  they  are  so  to 
this  day.  They  refused  to  change  their  faith.  The  king 
sent  word  to  have  all  of  them  who  were  not  of  noble  birth 
whipped  on  the  bare  back  and  branded.  In  the  Cevennes, 
a  cruel  priest  filled  his  house  with  Huguenot  prisoners. 
The  peasants  rose  one  night,  tore  him  shrieking  out  of  his 
house,  and  stabbed  him  to  death  with  fifty-two  stabs.  Each 
peasant  explained  his  stab.  "  That's  for  my  father,  broken  on 
the  wheel !"  "  That's  for  my  brother,  sent  to  the  galleys!" 
"  That's  for  my  mother,  dead  of  grief !"  And  so  on. 

In  spite  of  the  order  forbidding  Protestants  to  leave  the 
country,  some  four  or  five  hundred  thousand  did  so,  includ- 
ing some  of  the  most  skilful  and  industrious  artisans  in 
France.  They  came  to  this  country,  or  went  to  England, 
Belgium,  Holland,  or  Germany,  and  took  their  skill  and 
their  knowledge  with  them,  so  that  some  of  the  most  pros.- 


1680-1715]  241 

perous  industries  in  France  died  out.  Those  who  remained 
kept  their  faith  a  secret.  For  a  hundred  years  after  the 
Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  Huguenots  had  no  rights 
in  France.  Their  marriages  were  no  marriages  ;  their 
children  were  not  lawful  children  ;  when  they  died,  they 
had  no  right  to  decent  burial.  But  the  Huguenots  lived 

*_J  O 

through  it  all,  and  are  flourishing  and  giving  great  men  to 
France  to-day,  when  the  memory  of  Madame  de  Maintenon 
and  Louvois  and  Louis  the  Great  taints  the  air  like  a  car- 
cass that  has  lain  in  the  noonday  sun. 

You  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  the  last  years  of 
this  tyrant  were  gloomy  and  miserable.  He  had  lost  his 
sons,  his  eldest  son's  wife,  his  grandson,  and  nearly  all 
those  whom  he  had  loved  ;  he  was  alone.  "  I,"  said  old 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  "am  compelled  to  endure  his 
whims,  his  silence,  his  ill-temper ;  he  never  says  a  kind 
word  to  me."  His  confessor  had  been  a  good  and  gentle 
priest  named  Father  la  Chaise  ;  when  you  go  to  Paris  you 
will  see  the  fine  cemetery  which  bears  his  name.  He  was 
succeeded  by  a  rough  Jesuit  named  Le  Tellier,  who  wor- 
ried the  king  to  death  about  his  soul,  and  kept  him  in 
deadly  fear  of  dying.  The  old  man — he  was  seventy-seven 
— had  not  an  hour  of  peace. 

An  ulcer  appeared  on  his  leg,  and  mortification  set  in. 
The  odor  of  the  sore  was  so  offensive  that  all  his  family 
left  him,  and,  after  great  suffering,  he  died  at  last  on 
September  1st,  1715,  with  no  one  near  him  but  servants, 
priests,  and  doctors  ;  not  one  single  person  whom  he  had 
loved,  or  who  had  professed  to  love  him. 

You  will  find  in  larger  books  than  this  that  the  reign  of 
Louis  the  Fourteenth  is  considered  one  of  the  most  glorious 
in  French  history.  This  distinction  is  not  due  to  any  merit 
in  the  king,  but  to  the  fact  that  under  his  reign  men  of 
genius  appeared  in  almost  every  branch  of  human  knowl- 
edge. Some  of  the  books  of  that  period  are  out  of  print ; 
but  a  great  many  others  you  can  read  with  as  much  pleas- 
ure to-day  as  the  French  felt  when  they  first  appeared.  I 
16 


242  [1680-1715 

suppose  that  as  long  as  the  French  language  lasts  people 
will  love  to  read  the  comedies  of  Moliere,  the  tragedies  of 
Corneille  and  Racine,  and  the  poems  of  Boileau  ;  the  ser- 
mons of  Fenelon,  Bossuet,  and  Bourdaloue  ;  the  wit  and 
wisdom  of  Pascal,  La  Rochefoucauld,  and  La  Brtiyere  ;  the 
fables  of  La  Fontaine  ;  the  letters  of  Madame  de  Sevigne. 
There  was  no  good  music  as  yet  in  France,  nor  were  there 
great  paintings  ;  but  you  can  see  to  this  day  how  well 
the  architects  of  the  time  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  knew 
their  business.  We  have  no  better  soldiers  to-day  than 
Turenne,  no  bolder  sailors  than  Duquesne,  and  no  more 
skilful  fort-builder  than  Vauban.  It  was  natural  that  the 
age  which  saw  all  these  great  men  flourish  together  should 
be  considered  a  golden  age. 

I  am  afraid  that,  when  you  think  of  Louis  the  Four- 
teenth, you  may  remember  him  less  by  these  illustrious 
Frenchmen  than  by  the  recollection  of  his  cruel  wars,  of 
his  dreadful  persecutions  of  the  Huguenots,  and  his  brutal 
tyranny.  It  was  under  him  that  the  infamous  prison  of 
the  Bastile  became  a  dungeon  where  the  king,  or  one  of 
his  courtiers  who  had  the  king's  ear,  could  imprison  a  man 
for  life  without  trial  and  without  telling  his  friends  where 
he  was.  When  the  doors  of  the  Bastile  were  opened, 
after  the  death  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  a  poor  Italian  was 
found  who  had  been  locked  up  there  for  thirty-five  years, 
and  had  never  been  told  what  he  had  been  arrested  for. 
He  knew  no  one,  had  no  money,  and  begged  for  the  privi- 
lege of  going  back  to  jail  and  ending  his  days  there. 

A  prisoner  who  did  die  in  the  Bastile,  and  about  whom 
there  has  been  much  discussion,  was  the  Man  in  the  Iron 
Mask.  This  man  had  been  for  many  years  a  prisoner  on 
the  island  of  St.  Marguerite  when  he  was  brought  to  the 
Bastile  in  1698  by  Saint  Mars,  at  the  time  the  latter  was 
appointed  governor  of  that  prison.  lie  was  brought  in  a 
closed  carriage  which  was  surrounded  by  mounted  guards, 
who  had  orders  to  shoot  him  if  he  spoke.  He  wore  a  velvet 
mask  set  on  an  iron  frame,  and  was  forbidden  to  remove  it 


1880-171S1  243 

under  pain  of  instant  death.  In  the  Bastile  he  saw  no  one 
but  the  governor,  who  carried  loaded  pistols  at  his  belt. 
The  prisoner  had  been  told  that  it'  he  tried  to  remove  the 
mask  or  to  speak,  the  orders  were  to  blow  his  brains  out. 
He  lived  that  silent  life  for  several  years.  When  he  died, 
he  was  buried  secretly  at  night  in  St.  Paul's  burial-ground, 
and  every  particle  of  his  clothing  except  the  mask,  which 
he  still  wore  after  death,  w:is  bnmpd. 


THE    B  A  STILE 


Now,  the  question  is,  Who  was  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask? 
You  will  find  in  large  histories  attempts  to  explain  who  he 
was.  One  of  the  most  plausible  of  these  is  that  he  was  a 
twin-brother  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  who  was  thus  seclud- 
ed from  the  world  to  prevent  his  setting  up  a  claim  to  the 
throne.  I  hardly  think  that  you  can  believe  this,  nor  do 
I  see  how  you  can  agree  with  other  writers,  who  have  tried 
to  identify  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask  with  another  person- 
age. The  only  thing  that  you  can  be  sure  of  is  that  there 
was  such  a  man,  and  that  he  suffered  this  cruel  imprison- 
ment for  life  for  no  offence  that  is  known.  All  the  rest  is 
mystery. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE    REGENT  ORLEANS 

A.T\  1715-1723 

WHEN  Louis  the  Fourteenth  died,  the  heir  to  the  throne 
was  his  great-grandson  Louis,  who  was  a  boy  five  years 
old.  His  great-grandfather  had  appointed  a  council  of 
regency;  but  Philippe,  Duke  of  Orleans,  said  he  would 
be  sole  regent,  and  the  parliament,  which  was  glad  of  a 
chance  of  showing  its  spite  to  the  dead  king,  replied :  So 
he  should.  He  gave  money  to  the  soldiers ;  they  got  out 
their  firelocks  and  their  pikes,  and  everybody  then  agreed 
that  Orleans  should  be  sole  regent. 

He  was  a  stupid  person,  who  was  always  led  by  the 
nose  by  somebody.  When  he  was  a  young  man,  his  uncle, 
Louis  the  Fourteenth,  ordered  him  to  marry  Mademoiselle 
de  Blois,  against  his  mother's  wishes ;  he  obeyed,  and  the 
next  time  he  went  to  court,  his  mother  called  him  to  her 
side  and  boxed  his  ears  before  the  whole  assemblage.  He 
walked  out  without  a  word. 

His  first  business  was  to  bury  his  uncle,  and  this  he  did 
in  a  shabby  way.  There  was  no  grand  procession  ;  only  a 
few  carriages  followed  the  body  of  him  who,  according  to 
the  courtiers,  had  been  the  greatest  general  and  the  great- 
est statesman  and  the  greatest  monarch  in  history.  By 
the  side  of  the  road  to  St.  Denis,  where  the  kings  of  France 
were  buried,  tents  had  been  set  up,  and  roysterers  drank 
in  them,  guzzled  in  them,  and  sang  coarse  songs  as  the 
corpse  rolled  by. 

The  regent  began  hopefully,  however.  He  reduced  the 
army,  set  free  a  number  of  prisoners  in  the  Bastile,  and 
checked  the  persecution  of  the  Protestants.  But  he  was 


1715-1723]  245 

too  easy-going  and  lazy  to  stick  to  any  line  of  conduct, 
and  the  Bastile  soon  began  to  fill  tip  again,  and  the  Prot- 
estants to  feel  the  iron  hand  of  the  Church.  Philippe's 
idea  was  to  have  a  good  time,  and  his  idea  of  a  good  time 
— and  the  idea  of  his  courtiers  too — was  to  get  drunk,  to 
associate  with  low,  vicious  people,  and  to  boast  of  doing 
things  which  good  people  never  do,  or  are  ashamed  of  do- 
ing. He  bragged  of  his  wickedness,  and  the  court  bragged 
of  its  wickedness,  and  both  of  them  had  good  ground  for 
the  brag.  You  may  fancy  what  good  society  was  like  in 
France  when  such  people  were  at  the  head  of  it. 

The  Regent  Orleans  lived  under  the  thumbs  of  pretty, 
dissipated  women ;  he  was  also  governed  by  two  men  in 
turn. 

The  first  of  these  was,  when  the  regent  made  his  ac- 
quaintance, an  abbe  and  a  tutor.  His  name  was  Dubois. 
He  was  a  little,  thin  man,  with  a  face  like  a  weasel ;  so 
base  and  corrupt  and  mean  and  false  that  I  know  of  no 
viler  creature  in  history.  He  won  the  regent's  heart  by 
doing  for  him  dirty  work  which  no  gentleman  would  have 
touched.  He  was,  however,  bright  and  witty  and  good 
company ;  he  made  a  pretty  fair  politician,  when  chance 
threw  politics  in  his  way.  This  man  the  regent  took  to 
his  bosom  and  made  one  of  his  chief  advisers.  As  he 
called  himself  an  abbe,  he  was  supposed  to  belong  to  the 
Church  ;  he  applied  to  the  pope  to  make  him  an  archbishop, 
and  the  pope,  who  was  at  first  staggered  by  the  impudence 
of  the  request — it  being  as  well  known  at  Rome  as  in  Paris 
that  Dubois  was  a  blackguard — at  last  consented,  probably 
remembering  that  there  had  been  archbishops  before  who 
were  not  angels. 

Then  the  weasel-faced  rogue  asked  to  be  made  a  cardi- 
nal. People  laughed  to  split  their  sides  at  this,  but  Du- 
bois never  gave  up  anything  on  which  he  had  set  his  heart. 
He  begged,  he  cajoled,  he  threatened  ;  he  crawled  like  a 
serpent,  roared  like  a  lion,  scratched  like  a  cat.  He  told 
lies  morning,  noop,  and  uight,  and  when  he  told  the  mean- 


246  [1715-1723 

est  lies  he  prayed  the  loudest.  He  cringed,  and  bribed 
the  pope's  nephews  and  friends ;  he  reminded  the  pope 
that  he  let  no  day  pass  without  sending  to  Rome  either 
jewels  or  books  or  presents  of  some  kind.  The  head  of 
the  Church  was  so  hard  pressed  that  at  last  he  lay  down 
and  died,  in  order,  as  they  said  at  the  time,  to  get  rid  of 
Dubois.  But  a  new  pope  was  chosen.  He  was  poor.  Du- 
bois  sent  him  cartloads  of  silver  money  taken  from  the 
treasury  of  France.  It  is  said  that  he  forwarded  sums 
•which  were  equal  to  two  million  dollars  of  our  money  to 
Rome.  He  finally  begged  the  Protestant  King  of  England 
to  intercede  for  him  ;  and  George  the  First,  who  regarded 
the  thing  as  a  monstrous  good  joke,  wrote  to  the  pope  that 
in  his  opinion  the  weasel-faced  knave  ought  to  be  a  cardi- 
nal. The  pope  was  only  too  anxious  to  please  the  Protes- 
tant king,  and  Dubois  got  a  cardinal's  hat  and  was  happy. 

The  great  lords  of  France  refused  to  sit  at  the  council- 
board  with  him  ;  but  the  regent  made  him  prime-minister, 
and  Cardinal  Dubois  became  ruler  of  the  kingdom.  Not 
for  long,  however. 

He  was  made  a  cardinal  in  July,  1721.  In  August,  1723, 
he  undertook  to  review  a  regiment,  though  he  had  never 
learned  to  ride.  His  horse  jolted  him  up  and  down  so 
roughly  that  an  internal  abscess,  caused  by  his  bad  habits, 
burst,  gangrene  set  in,  and  he  died.  At  the  last,  he  refused 
to  take  the  sacrament,  because  there  was  no  one  of  higher 
rank  than  a  priest  to  anoint  him  with  the  holy  oil.  He  said 
that  no  one  of  inferior  degree  to  a  cardinal  should  smooth 
his  path  to  heaven. 

The  regent's  other  leader  was  a  Scotch  gambler,  named 
John  Law.  He  was  a  fascinating  fellow,  young,  hand- 
some, witty,  dashing,  graceful,  a  king  of  hearts,  and  a  brill- 
iant man  of  business.  France  was  in  desperate  straits  for 
money  ;  the  regent  had  neither  credit  nor  coin.  Law  per- 
suaded him  that  if  he  could  start  speculation  among  the 
people  the  government  would  be  able  to  float  paper  money, 
and  to  pay  off  enough  of  its  debts  to  be  easy  in  its  circum- 


1715-1723] 


247 


stances.  The  regent  agreed  to  anything  which  would  fur- 
nish him  means  to  give  his  little  suppers  and  to  present 
diamonds  to  his  fair  lady  friends.  So  Law  had  a  chance 
to  try  his  plan. 


Actieu.se  NACHTVWIND-Z 


CAKICATUHE    OF   JOU.N    LAW 


The  first  part  of  it  succeeded  very  well  indeed.  All  France 
went  mad  on  speculation.  All  over  the  French  colonies, 
and  in  all  sorts  of  odd  places  throughout  the  world,  towns 
were  built — among  others  the  city  of  New  Orleans  on  the 
Mississippi';  it  was  named  after  the  regent  —  and  every 
town  was  owned  by  a  company,  which  issued  shares  of 


248  [1715-1723 

stock.  Companies  were  started  to  carry  on  every  business 
you  can  think  of,  and  some  businesses  you  never  heard 
of.  All  of  them  issued  shares;  everybody  was  wild  to  buy 
them ;  the  shares  went  up  day  after  day,  and  everybody 
seemed  to  be  making  a  fortune.  Great  lords,  bishops, 
generals,  lawyers,  merchants,  court  ladies  and  ladies'-maids, 
gentlemen  and  valets,  all  crowded  into  the  little  Rue  Quin- 
carnpoix,  where  the  shares  were  manufactured,  and  scram- 
bled for  them.  On  some  days  the  throng  was  so  dense 
that  people  were  crushed  to  death  near  Law's  office. 

This  went  on  for  six  months.  Then  it  began  to  be  no- 
ticed that  there  was  not  so  much  gold  and  silver  in  peo- 
ple's pockets  as  usual ;  the  only  money  which  passed  from 
hand  to  hand  was  paper.  Then  prices  began  to  rise.  A 
pair  of  stockings  cost  in  paper  ten  dollars  of  our  money;  a 
yard  of  cloth,  twenty  dollars.  Then  everybody  wanted 
real  money  for  their  goods,  paper  money  dropped  in  value 
to  nothing,  the  speculators  were  ruined,  and  the  govern- 
ment was  worse  off  than  it  had  been  when  John  Law  began 
his  financial  tricks  and  juggleries.  The  people  mobbed 
him  and  smashed  his  carriage.  He  had  to  fly  from  Paris. 
But  he  was  a  crank,  not  a  rogue  ;  he  went  away  almost 
without  a  dollar,  and  spent  his  last  years  in  poverty  in 
Venice,  persisting  to  the  end  that  his  system  was  all  right, 
if  he  had  been  allowed  time  to  work  it  out.  He  had  had 
all  the  money  in  France  in  his  hands;  he  did  not  take  a 
franc  for  himself. 

It  was  in  the  regent's  time  that  the  plague — that  awful 
disease  of  the  East — paid  its  last  visit  to  France.  It  was 
brought  to  Marseilles  by  a  ship  from  Asia  Minor.  It  was 
more  terrible  than  any  disease  of  our  day.  It  struck  down 
chiefly  strong  men  and  women  in  the  flower  of  their  age ; 
those  whom  it  did  strike  generally  died  within  twenty-four 
hours.  Everybody  who  could  fled  from  Marseilles — the 
rich  men,  the  officials,  the  members  of  the  parliament,  the 
lawyers,  the  merchants,  and  even  the  doctors.  Happily 
there  was  in  that  city  an  intrepid  priest — Bishop  Belzunce. 
He  stayed. 


1716-1723]  249 

All  around  him  his  attendant  priests,  his  servants,  his 
choir-boys,  died  ;  he  stayed,  and  spent  day  after  day  walk- 
ing on  foot  among  the  dying  and  the  dead,  holding  a  cup 
of  water  to  the  parched  lips  of  the  stricken,  soothing  them, 
giving  them  the  last  consolations  of  the  Church,  and  di- 
recting the  burial  of  the  corpses.  After  a  time  other  priests 
joined  him,  and  gave  their  lives  for  the  afflicted.  Out  of 
twenty-six  Jesuits,  eighteen  died  of  the  plague  ;  out  of 
fifty-five  Capuchins,  forty-three  died  of  the  same  disease. 
Priests  of  other  orders  were  just  as  heroic.  When  you 
think  of  the  wrong-doings  of  priests  in  the  chapters  you 
have  read,  remember  the  Marseilles  plague,  and  give  due 
credit  to  the  Church. 

I  do  not  hear  that  the  regent  went  to  Marseilles  when 
the  plague  was  raging,  or  that  he  allowed  the  dreadful 
news  from  that  city  to  interfere  with  his  merry  suppers. 
He  diverted  his  mind  with  pleasanter  pastimes  than  visit- 
ing the  sick. 

On  the  2d  of  December,  1723,  he  was  sitting  with  the 
lovely  Duchess  of  Falaris,  who  was  as  bright  as  she  was 
pretty.  The  regent  leaned  his  head  on  her  round  white 
shoulder,  and  said, 

"  Duchess,  tell  me  one  of  those  fairy  stories  you  invent 
so  well." 

She  stroked  his  head  with  her  jewelled  hand,  and  began, 

"Once  upon  a  time,  there  was  a  king  and  a  queen — " 

She  got  no  further.  The  regent's  head  had  fallen  into 
her  lap.  She  sprang  up  and  rang  for  help ;  doctors  and 
servants  rushed  into  the  room.  But  it  was  too  late.  Phil- 
ippe of  Orleans  was  dead — dead  of  a  stroke  of  apoplexy, 
brought  on  by  the  wicked  life  he  had  led. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

LOUIS    THE     FIFTEENTH 

A.D.  1723-1774 

WHEN  the  regent  died,  the  great-grandson  of  Louis  the 
Fourteenth  was  thirteen  and  was  already  King  of  France, 
under  the  name  of  Louis  the  Fifteenth.  That  was  in  the 
year  17*23.  He  lived  till  1774,  two  years  before  our  Dec- 
laration of  Independence  ;  so  that  his  actual  reign  lasted 
fifty -one  years,  one  of  the  longest  in  French  history. 
During  about  thirty-five  of  these  years  he  carried  on  wars 
against  Germany,  England,  Austria,  Italy,  and  Spain  ;  and 
though  he  was  not  beaten  in  all  the  battles,  the  end  of 
the  wars  was  that  France  lost  all  her  colonies  in  North 
America,  nearly  all  her  provinces  in  India,  several  of  her 
islands  in  the  West  Indies,  nearly  all  her  navy,  scores  of 
millions  of  treasure,  and  about  a  million  men  who  were 
killed  in  the  battles,  or  who  died  from  wounds  or  disease 
afterward.  You  will  perhaps  think  that  France  ought  to 
have  learned  tlu-  lesson  that  war  does  not  pay.  But  she 
had  not. 

I  should  tire  you  if  I  told  you  the  story  of  these  wars. 
One  war  was  like  another  ;  each  battle  was  a  copy  of  the 
last;  sometimes  one  side  won,  sometimes  the  other;  but  in 
every  case  a  great  number  of  poor  fellows,  who  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  objects  of  the  wars,  were  killed  or  crip- 
pled, and  the  people  who  stayed  at  home  had  to  stint  their 
children  in  food  and  clothing  to  provide  money  to  feed  and 
pay  the  soldiers.  There  was  one  battle  fought  near  the 
town  of  Fontenoy,  in  Belgium,  between  the  English,  Dutch, 
and  Austrians  on  the  one  side,  and  the  French  on  the  other. 
The  story  goes  that  a  regiment  of  English  guards,  led  by 


1723-1774]  251 

the  king's  son,  met  a  regiment  of  French  guards,  led  by  a 
great  French  noble  ;  and  that  an  English  officer,  taking  off 
his  hat,  called  out, 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  French  guard,  fire  first !" 
To  which  a  French  officer,  also  taking  off  his  hat,  replied, 
"  Fire  yourselves,  gentlemen  of  England  !    tVe  never  fire 
first." 

Upon  which  the  Englishmen  fired  a  volley,  and  laid  the 
front  rank  of  the  Frenchmen  low. 

You  can  believe  this  stoiy  if  you  think  it  probable.  I 
think  myself  that  an  officer  who  let  his  men  be  killed,  when 
he  had  a  chance  of  saving  them,  didn't  understand  his 
business  ;  and  I  suspect  the  officers  of  the  French  guard 
understood  theirs. 

Notwithstanding  his  endless  wars,  Louis  the  Fifteenth 
was  not  as  wild  for  blood  and  glory  as  his  great-grand- 
father. He  preferred  ladies'  society  to  the  society  of 
camps.  When  he  was  fifteen,  his  friends  looked  round  for 
a  princess  to  marry  him  to.  Madame  de  Prie,  who  took 
the  delicate  matter  in  hand,  made  out  a  list  of  ninety-nine 
who  would  answer  ;  the  list  included  fifty-five  Lutherans, 
thirteen  Calvinists,  and  three  Greeks.  Out  of  the  lot  the 
choice  fell  on  Mary  Leczinska,  a  Polish  girl  who  was  stupid 
and  homely  and  seven  years  older  than  Louis.  Her  father 
had  once  been  King  of  Poland,  and  was  living  on  a  small 
pension  which  the  French  allowed  him,  at  Wissembourg, 
the  place  where  one  of  the  great  battles  in  the  Franco-Ger- 
man war  took  place.  He  was  so  overjoyed  when  he  heard 
that  his  daughter  had  been  chosen  over  the  other  ninety- 
eight,  that  he  ran  into  her  room,  crying, 

"  Fall  we  on  our  knees,  dear  daughter,  and  thank  God  !" 
I  hardly  think  that  Mary  would  have  thanked  God 
heartily  if  she  could  have  foreseen  her  married  lot.  For 
her  husband  led  even  a  worse  life  than  the  regent.  He 
was  always  ruled  by  some  woman  or  other,  and  he  gen- 
erally preferred  the  worst  woman  he  could  find.  After 
many  changes,  he  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  cunning  schemer 


252 


[1723-1774 


named  Jane  Poisson,  who,  after  two  years'  chase,  managed 
to  catch  him  at  a  masked  ball.  She  was  pretty  and  smart  ; 
the  king  made  her  Marquise  of  Pompadour.  For  twenty- 
four  years  her  will  was  law.  She  had  an  income  of  half  a 
million  dollars  of  our  money,  three  castles,  four  palaces 
in  the  cities,  and  several  estates  ;  she  made  and  unmade 
magistrates,  judges,  and  generals  ;  nothing  was  done  with- 
out her  direction.  Even  the  king  trembled  when  her  voice 
rose  in  anger. 


FAN  OF  LOUIS  XV.  PERIOD 


When  he  grew  tired  of  her  he  sent  her  away,  and  put 
in  her  place  a  girl  who  had  been  a  milliner.  Her  he  created 
Countess  Dubarry,  and  she  ruled  him  to  the  end.  She  was 
not  as  proud  as  Madame  of  Pompadour,  and  spent  much 
of  the  money  which  the  king  gave  her  in  works  of  charity. 
But  the  people  of  Paris  could  not  forgive  her  for  what 
she  had  been,  and  when  the  dreadful  days  of  the  guillotine 
came  round,  they  found  her  out  —  she  was  an  old,  gray- 
haired  woman  then — and  they  cut  off  her  head. 

I  am  happy  to  say  that  Louis  the  Fifteenth  was  the  last 
French  king  who  led  a  dreadfully  bad  life.  Of  him  you 
cannot  think  too  ill.  They  said  of  him  in  his  old  age  that 


1723-1774]  253 

his  wickedness  would  have  shocked  even  the  Regent  Or- 
leans. 

For  a  large  portion  of  his  reign,  Louis's  chief  councillor 
was  a  wise  and  good  priest  named  Cardinal  Fleury,  who,  I 
imagine,  must  have  been  sorely  distressed  at  the  life  his 
king  was  leading.  He  was  seventy-three  years  of  age  when 
he  became  prime-minister,  and  I  suppose  he  had  enough  to 
do  to  look  after  the  money  matters  of  the  kingdom,- and  to 
settle  the  constant  trouble  with  the  people  and  the  parlia- 
ments. In  one  way  and  another  the  king  spent  on  his  own 
pleasures  and  on  his  friends  something  like  thirty  million 
dollars  of  our  money  every  year,  and  it  was  hard  to  get  this 
sum  out  of  an  overtaxed  people  like  the  French,  though 
these  did  number  at  that  time  some  twenty  million  souls. 

With  the  exception  of  a  short  period,  when  there  was  no 
war  raging  and  the  harvests  were  very  good,  the  people 
were  in  dreadful  poverty  throughout  this  reign.  They 
knew  it  was  in  part  the  king's  fault,  and  when  they  met 
him  driving  in  his  splendid  carriage,  with  the  prancing 
horses  and  the  golden  harness,  and  the  whiskered  guards 
cantering  round  it,  and  some  ravishing  marquise  by  his 
side,  they  did  not  shout  "Long  live  the  king!"  as  Louis 
would  have  liked,  but  groaned  in  a  hollow  voice, 

"  Want !     Famine  !     Bread  !" 

I  have  mentioned  to  you  the  parliaments  which  were 
held  in  several  provinces,  and  which  met,  at  set  times,  at 
Paris,  Toulouse,  Aix,  Rouen,  Rennes,  and  other  towns.  For 
a  long  time  the  chief  business  of  these  parliaments  was  to 
hear  lawsuits  ;  but  ever  since  the  time  of  Louis  the  Thir- 
teenth they  had  tried,  greatly  against  the  wish  of  the  kings, 
to  take  a  hand  in  public  affairs.  The  Parliament  of  Paris 
now  drew  up  a  paper  in  which  they  said  that  it  was  all 
wrong  to  lock  up  people  in  the  Bastile  without  giving  them 
a  trial,  to  shave  and  imprison  women  who  did  not  attend 
church,  and  to  refuse  to  give  the  sacrament  to  dying  per- 
sons who  had  notions  of  their  own  about  the  way  to  man- 
age churches. 


254  [1723-1774 

This  brought  a  storm  about  the  king's  ears.  Two  car- 
dinals and  twenty-seven  bishops  hastened  to  Versailles  to 
protest  against  the  impudence  of  the  parliament.  Madame 
of  Pompadour  said  she  had  never  heard  anything  like  it  in 
her  life.  The  king  wrote  a  pettish  letter  to  the  parliament, 
begging  to  be  let  alone  with  his  fair  lady  friends.  Parlia- 
ment refused  to  open  the  letter,  but  sent  a  written  protest 
to  Cardinal  Fleury.  The  cardinal  refused  to  receive  it. 
Then  fifty  members  of  the  parliament,  all  in  their  long  scar- 
lot  robes,  went  to  Marli,  in  fourteen  carriages,  and  demand- 
ed to  see  the  king.  He  would  not  see  them.  They  drove 
home,  and  told  how  they  had  been  shown  the  door.  That 
night  the  cardinal  arrested  one  hundred  and  thirty-nine 
members  of  the  parliament,  including  the  presidents,  and 
locked  them  up  in  prison  in  distant  parts  of  France.  The 
pot,  you  see,  was  beginning  to  boil. 

The  Parliament  of  Rouen  ordered  an  inquiry  into  the 
cause  of  the  high  price  of  bread.  It  was  forbidden  to  ask 
questions,  and  when  it  insisted,  it  was  dispersed  by  sol- 
diers. The  Parliament  of  Dijon  sent  a  remonstrance  to 
the  king,  reminding  him  that  he  ought  to  govern  according 
to  law  ;  the  members  who  drew  up  the  remonstrance  were 
put  in  jail.  Just  before  the  Parliament  of  Paris  was  dis- 
persed by  the  king,  it  had  dissolved  the  Jesuit  society  and 
closed  the  Jesuit  houses.  The  Jesuits  complained  that 
they  were  persecuted.  I  suppose  they  had  forgotten  the 
way  in  which  they  had  handled  the  Huguenots. 

Troubles  began  to  thicken  round  the  king.  Poor,  plain, 
stupid,  patient  Mary,  his  wife,  died  ;  his  son  and  his  son's 
wife  died  also ;  the  heir  to  the  throne  was  a  boy  of  eleven, 
who  afterward  became  Louis  the  Sixteenth.  The  king  had 
had  a  warning  which  reminded  him  of  Henry  the  Fourth. 
One  day,  as  he  was  walking  down  the  grand  staircase  of 
the  marble  court  at  Versailles,  a  man  ran  against  him  and 
drove  a  penknife  into  his  side.  Louis  clapped  his  hand  to 
the  wound,  and  drew  it  away,  covered  with  blood.  The 
man  was  seized. 


1723-1774] 


255 


It  turned  out  that  he  was  a  crank  named  Daraiens,  who 
had  no  reason  for  seeking  the  king's  death.  The  wound 
proved  trifling.  But  Damiens  was  convicted  of  an  attempt 
to  kill  the  king,  and,  according  to  the  old  barbarous  law, 
was  sentenced  to  be  torn  to  pieces  by  wild  horses. 


VOLTAIRE 

When  the  day  came  for  his  execution — which  was  to 
take  place  in  one  of  the  great  squares  of  Paris — the  windows 
of  every  house  in  the  square  were  rented  to  sight-seers. 
The  highest  nobles  and  the  finest  ladies  of  the  court  went 
to  see  the  show.  Enormous  prices  were  paid  for  seats  at 
windows.  After  the  sentence  was  read,  four  wild  horses 
were  hitched  to  the  ankles  and  wrists  of  the  prisoner,  and 
each  was  started,  with  shouts  and  lashes  and  goads,  in  a  dif- 
ferent direction.  The  horses  were  balky,  and  could  not  un- 
derstand what  was  required  of  them.  After  they  had  made 


256  [1723-1774 

many  starts  and  had  spent  over  two  hours  in  furious  gal- 
loping, with  men  at  their  sides  whipping  them,  they  tore  off 
the  wretched  man's  arms  and  one  of  his  legs.  The  other 
leg  still  remained  attached  to  the  body  ;  the  executioner  had 
to  cut  the  tendons  before  it  could  be  separated.  All  this 
while  Damiens  lived  and  filled  the  air  with  his  shrieks,  while 
the  nobles  clapped  their  hands  when  the  horses  made  a 
great  rush,  and  the  fair  ladies  fanned  themselves  and  gig- 
gled to  each  other  about  their  dresses  and  their  flirtations. 

Sorrow  had  made  the  king  a  mournful  man.  He  had  a 
good  daughter  who  became  a  nun,  and  who  besought  her  fa- 
ther to  repent  and  amend  his  life.  On  the  other  hand,  Ma- 
dame Dubarry  and  the  court  were  all  for  keeping  up  their 
deviltries,  and  would  not  hear  of  the  king's  reforming.  Be- 
tween the  two  the  king  was  drawn  now  this  way  and  now 
that ;  but  the  nun  generally  got  the  worst  of  the  tussle. 
Louis  was  quite  willing  to  pray  and  play  at  piety,  but  he 
couldn't  give  up  his  wicked  pleasures.  It  was  not  till  he 
fell  ill  of  the  small-pox  that  he  shut  his  door  in  Madame 
Dubarry's  face.  On  the  10th  of  May,  1774,  a  few  weeks 
before  the  first  congress  of  the  American  colonies  met  at 
Philadelphia,  he  died  in  great  pain,  with  his  features  dis- 
torted by  his  terrible  malady. 

As  many  great  Frenchmen  flourished  under  Louis  the 
Fifteenth  as  under  Louis  the  Fourteenth  ;  but  their  great- 
ness showed  itself  in  a  different  way.  They  cared  less  for 
writing  poetry  or  even  fine  prose  than  for  philosophy,  sci- 
ence, and  high  politics.  Voltaire,  Rousseau,  Montesquieu, 
Diderot,  D'Alembert,  and  Buffon  laid  down  the  principles 
of  free  government  with  a  force  and  clearness  which  have 
never  been  surpassed ;  they  showed  the  iniquity  of  royal 
tyranny,  and  the  absurdity  of  a  privileged  nobility,  just  at 
the  time  when  the  iniquity  and  the  absurdity  were  most 
flourishing.  Everybody — especially  the  court  and  the  no- 
bility—  devoured  their  books,  and  quoted  them  to  each 
other  with  praise.  It  never  seemed  to  occur  to  them  that 
some  day  the  people  might  want  to  put  these  fine  princi- 


JEAN  JACQUES    ROUSSEAU 

pies  into  practice.    They  were  blind  as  bats  to  the  meaning 
of  the  lesson  they  learned  so  well. 

You  may  remember  the  reign  of  Louis  the  Fifteenth 
as  the  period  when  the  French  empire  in  North  America 
ceased  to  exist.  At  the  time  he  came  to  the  throne  France - 
owned  all  Canada — which  included  the  territory  from  Nova 
Scotia  and  New  Brunswick  to  the  great  lakes — Ohio,  In- 
diana, Illinois,  and  Michigan,  both  banks  of  the  Missis- 
sippi to  its  mouth,  and  the  country  lying  back  of  the  west 
bank  from  the  southern  end  of  Louisiana  to  Northern  Mis- 
souri. At  the  end  of  Louis's  reign  the  French  flag  did  not 
float  over  a  foot  of  this  territory.  The  whole  of  it  had 
passed  into  the  hands  of  the  English,  except  Louisiana, 
which  had  been  ceded  to  Spain. 
17 


LOUIS    XVI.       FROM   A   COIN 


CHAPTER  XL 

LOUIS  THE   SIXTEENTH 

A.D.  1774-1789 

Louis  THE  SIXTEENTH  was  twenty  when  he  succeeded 
his  grandfather  as  King  of  France,  in  1774.  He  was  an 
awkward,  shy  lad,  slow  of  speech  and  timid  in  manner, 
fond  of  books,  and  delighted  when  he  could  shut  himself 
up  with  a  friend  who  was  a  locksmith,  and  forge  and  file 
locks  and  keys.  His  intentions  were  good,  though  his 
mind  was  narrow.  He  purposed  to  lead  a  decent  life,  and 
to  do  his  duty  by  his  people.  His  wife,  Marie  Antoinette 
of  Austria,  was  a  giddy  girl,  who  adored  dancing  and  fancy 
balls.  She  laughed  at  etiquette,  and  made  an  intimate  of 
her  dressmaker.  She  loved  setting  new  fashions.  Under 
her  lead,  the  ladies  of  the  court  would  sometimes  wear 
simple  white  muslin  gowns  like  their  waiting-maids  ;  and 
then  again  they  would  crown  themselves  with  lofty  moun- 
tains of  gauze,  flowers,  and  feathers,  so  that  their  heads  ap- 


1774-1789]  259 

peared  to  be  in  the  middle  of  their  bodies.  Marie  Antoi- 
nette had  blue  eyes,  a  fine  figure,  small  hands  and  feet,  a 
graceful  carriage,  and  a  most  brilliant  complexion.  I  am 
glad  to  be  able  to  add  that  she  was  not  the  wicked  woman 
which  she  was  accused  of  being  when  the  French  turned 
against  her,  though  people  thought  it  an  unfortunate  omen 
when  fifty-three  persons  were  crushed  to  death  at  her  coro- 
nation. 

In  order  that  you  may  realize  the  causes  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, of  which  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  the  story  in  this 
and  the  succeeding  chapters,  you  must  know  something  of 
the  condition  of  France  during  the  reign  of  Louis  the  Six- 
teenth. 

In  the  first  place,  you  must  understand  that,  outside  of 
the  cities,  the  people  were  either  nobles,  churchmen,  or 
peasants.  The  two  former  classes  were  everything,  the 
last  class  nothing.  Most  of  the  taxes  which  were  collected 
by  the  kings  to  s.ipport  their  armies  and  their  courts  were 
paid  by  the  peasants  ;  the  nobles  and  clergy  paid  little  or 
nothing.  Within  their  domains  the  nobles,  and  the  clergy 
— who  were  often  feudal  nobles  themselves — were  masters 
of  the  peasants.  The  peasant  was  bound  to  send  his  wheat 
to  be  ground  at  the  nobleman's  mill,  to  have  his  grapes 
pressed  at  the  nobleman's  press,  to  have  his  loaves  of  bread 
baked  in  the  nobleman's  oven.  The  nobles  kept  deer  and 
hares  and  rabbits  and  game  birds  which  fed  on  the  peas- 
ant's crops  ;  he  was  forbidden  to  kill  the  game,  and  in  some 
places  he  was  forbidden  to  mow  the  grass  for  fear  of  break- 
ing the  partridge-eggs,  while  in  others  he  was  not  allowed 
to  manure  his  fields  for  fear  of  injuring  the  flavor  of  the 
game. 

Each  peasant  was  bound  to  put  in  so  many  days'  work 
every  year  on  the  roads,  and  he  was  not  paid  for  his  work. 
He  had  to  pay  rent  to  the  noble  for  the  land  he  cultivated, 
though  it  was  his  own  ;  when  he  sent  his  stuff  to  market, 
the  noble  collected  a  tax  on  it.  The  peasant  could  not  sell 
his  land  without  paying  a  fine  to  the  noble.  When  he  got 


260  [1774-1789 

into  trouble,  lie  had  to  take  his  lawsuit  to  a  court  of  which 
the  noble  was  the  judge.  When  he  crossed  a  bridge,  he 
paid  toll  to  the  noble.  When  he  had  grown  his  crop  and 
sold  it,  the  Church  came  down  upon  him  for  its  tithe. 

The  nobles  and  the  clergy  were  generally  fairly  well  edu- 
cated for  that  age.  The  peasants  knew  nothing.  Their 
mayors  could  not  read  or  write ;  their  tax-collectors  could 
not  add  up  a  column  of  figures.  Between  the  times  of 
Henry  the  Fourth  and  Louis  the  Sixteenth,  the  land-tax, 
which  was  called  the  taille,  had  increased  tenfold.  It  was 
levied  on  parishes  as  a  whole  ;  if  one  land-owner  would  not 
or  could  not  pay,  the  others  had  to  make  up  the  deficiency. 
I  need  not  tell  you  that  the  nobles  and  the  priests  came  to 
despise  people  who  were  so  ignorant  and  so  spiritless  as  to 
submit  to  such  wrongs.  They  regarded  the  peasants  as 
brutes. 

A  noble  was  free  to  thrash  a  peasant  with  his  heavy 
hunting-whip,  and  the  peasant  was  so  cowed  that  he  never 
struck  back.  The  noble  took  from  the  peasant  his  wife 
or  his  daughter,  if  he  fancied  either.  The  poor,  dark-faced 
grubber  of  the  earth,  in  his  ragged  clothes  and  his  wooden 
shoes,  had  to  stand  it.  When  the  crops  failed  and  the 
peasants  starved,  a  noble  governor  of  Dijon  told  them  that 
the  grass  was  coming  up  finely  ;  they  had  better  go  and 
browse.  A  noble  could  order  one  of  his  peasants  to  spend 
the  night  in  beating  the  ponds  with  a  stick,  to  prevent  the 
frogs  from  croaking  and  disturbing  his  noble  sleep. 

In  the  cities,  there  was  another  class  of  Frenchmen,  who 
were  called  burgesses.  These  were  above  day-laborers, 
and  yet  below  churchmen  and  noblemen — they  were  mer- 
chants; shopkeepers;  makers  of  cloth,  tools,  bricks,  and  iron 
ware  ;  lawyers,  doctors,  druggists,  bankers,  and  the  like. 
They  were  not  as  ignorant  as  the  peasants,  and  m,any  of 
them  were  rich.  But  tlrey  could  not  associate  with  the 
nobles,  and  were  an  inferior  class — not  to  be  beaten  with 
hunting-whips,  but  to  be  made  to  keep  their  distance — and 
who,  when  they  visited  a  noble,  stood  in  the  hall  and  were 


1774-1789] 


261 


jeered  at  by  lackeys.      They  were  not  often  suffered  to 
interfere,  or  to  have  any  opinion  on  public  affairs. 

When  Louis  the  Sixteenth  settled  down  to  the  govern- 
ment of  the  country,  he  began  to  root  out  some  of  the 
more  grievous  wrongs  which  had  been  handed  down  from 
former  kings.  He  put  a  stop  to  torture.  He  forbade  fur- 
ther interference  with  the  Huguenots.  He  abolished  the 
law  which  forbade  a  peasant-girl  from  marrying  without 


LYONS 

the  consent  of  the  noble  on  whose  land  she  lived.  He  im- 
proved the  prisons.  One  of  the  commonest  offences  of  that 
day  was  smuggling,  which  is  the  natural  fruit  of  bad  tar- 
iffs. There  is  a  story,  which  I  believe  to  be  true,  of  a  man 
named  Monnerat,  who  was  falsely  accused  of  smuggling. 
He  was  arrested,  thrust  into  an  underground  dungeon,  and 
kept  there  for  six  weeks  on  bread  and  water  ;  then  he  was 
removed  to  another  prison,  where  he  lay  twenty  months 
without  trial,  When  he  got  out,  he  easily  proved  that  he 


262  [1774-1789 

had  been  taken  for  some  one  else,  but  he  got  no  redress 
from  those  who  had  so  cruelly  wronged  him. 

But  the  more  the  king  tried  to  reform  wrongs,  the  more 
angry  the  people  grew  at  their  having  existed.  They  were 
awaking  to  their  rights,  and  began  to  talk  very  loudly  in- 
deed. They  first  tried  what  could  be  done  through  their 
parliaments.  These  bodies  spoke  out  fearlessly,  and  even 
threatened.  Louis  had  a  succession  of  ministers — Maure- 
pas,  Turgot,  Necker,  Calonne,  and  Brienne  ;  Turgot  was 
the  best  of  them.  Each  in  his  turn  tried  to  pacify  the  par- 
liaments or  to  put  them  down.  Neither  thing  could  be 
done. 

In  Brittany  a  parliament  met  at  Rennes.  The  king  or- 
dered it  to  disperse;  it  refused.  The  king  sent  a  regiment 
to  enforce  his  orders.  Fifteen  members  of  the  parliament 
fought  duels  with  fifteen  officers,  and  a  committee  of  twelve 
members  went  to  Versailles  to  protest.  When  the  twelve 
were  locked  up  in  the  Bastile,  eighteen  more  members 
went  to  demand  them  back;  and  these  not  returning,  fifty 
more  followed  them  to  the  king.  Meantime  the  brave 
Breton  people  came  trooping  into  Rennes  from  north  and 
south  and  east  and  west,  all  with  swords  and  pikes  and 
guns  in  their  hands. 

At  Grenoble,  orders  from  the  king  commanded  the  par- 
liament to  disperse.  The  church-bells  rang  the  tocsin,  and 
the  mountaineers  of  Dauphine  came  hurrying  into  Grenoble. 
The  king's  troops  fell  back,  and  the  mob,  seizing  the  gov- 
ernor, swore  they  would  hang  him  to  his  own  chandelier  if 
he  did  not  convene  the  parliament  in  the  city-hall  that 
very  day  and  hour. 

The  Parliament  of  Paris  had  a  dispute  with  the  king 
over  money  matters  and  taxes.  The  king  had  his  plan  for 
raising  money.  The  parliament  declared  that  the  country 
was  drifting  into  bankruptcy,  and  refused  to  agree  to  the 
king's  plan.  He  declared  that  he  would  put  it  in  force 
whether  they  liked  it  or  not.  M.  d'Espremesnil  shouted 
that  this  was  despotism,  Another  member,  De  Montsa- 


BRETON  PEASANTS 

bert,  moved  an  inquiry  into  what  had  been  done  with  the 
last  money  raised  by  taxes. 

On  the  next  night,  while  the  parliament  was  in  session, 
every  member  in  his  scarlet  gown  and  with  a  very  grave 
face,  an  officer  of  the  guards  entered,  and  said  he  held  a 
warrant  for  the  arrest  of  Espremesnil  and  Montsabert. 
Would  the  members  present  kindly  point  them  out  ?  A 
member  started  to  his  feet  and  cried, 


204  [1774-1789 

"  We  are  all  Espremesnils  and  Montsaberts.  Find  them 
if  you  can." 

The  officer  retired.  Returning  next  day  with  a  door- 
keeper who  knew  every  member  by  sight,  he  bade  him 
point  out  the  men  he  was  in  search  of.  The  doorkeeper, 
looking  Espremesnil  and  Montsabert  straight  in  the  eye, 
said  he  could  not  see  them. 

The  king  dissolved  the  parliament  and  forbade  it  to 
meet  again.  Louis  had  a  scheme  of  his  own.  He  called 
an  assembly  of  the  Notables. 

This  extraordinary  body  consisted  of  a  hundred  and 
forty-four  members — seven  princes  of  the  blood,  fourteen 
bishops  and  archbishops,  thirty-six  dukes  and  other  noble- 
men, fifty  councillors  and  magistrates,  all  appointed  by  the 
king,  twelve  deputies  of  districts,  and  twenty-five  city  of- 
ficials. I  need  not  tell  you  that  this  assembly  did  not  set- 
tle the  troubles  of  the  nation. 

There  was  one  man  in  France  who  understood  the  situa- 
tion. This  was  a  great  big  man,  with  a  red,  blotched, 
pock-marked  face,  a  head  of  hair  like  a  lion's  mane,  and  a 
voice  like  thunder;  a  man  who,  when  he  spoke,  made  other 
men  tremble,  he  looked  so  like  an  angry  giant.  His  name 
was  Mirabeau.  He  had  led  a  riotous  youth,  and  had  spent 
years  in  prisons  to  which  he  had  been  unjustly  condemned. 
He  was  now  boiling  over  with  wrath,  and  spluttered  in  his 
rage, 

"We  must  have  a  meeting  of  the  States-General,  and 
we  must  have  it  at  once." 

Straightway  all  France,  with  one  voice,  demanded  the 
meeting  of  the  States-General.  This  body  had  not  met 
since  the  time  of  Mary  of  Medicis,one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  years  before.  It  consisted  of  representatives  of  the 
nobles,  the  clergy,  and  the  third  estate,  by  which  term  the 
people  were  meant.  It  would  not  now  be  considered  a 
fairly  representative  body;  it  embraced  delegates  from  two 
classes  which  had  no  right  to  separate  representation,  and 
it  did  not  embrace  any  one  who  could  fairly  speak  for  the 


1774-1789] 


265 


peasants  and  the  workingmen.  But,  such  as  it  was,  it  was 
the  nearest  approach  to  a  real  congress  which  France  had 
ever  had,  or  could  hope  to  have  at  that  time.  You  will 
see,  as  we  go  on,  that  it  did  good  and  thorough  work.  The 
day  of  its  meeting  was  set  for  May  2d,  1789. 

Before  we  begin  its  history,  I  must  tell  you  something 
of  two  rather  important  events  which  occurred  before  it 
met. 


LOUIS  XVI 


The  American  Revolution  began  with  the  battle  of  Lex- 
ington in  April,  1775;  the  Declaration  of  Independence  was 
issued- on  July  4th,  1776.  On  April  17th,  1778,  a  French 
squadron  sailed  from  Toulon,  in  France,  to  aid  the  United 
States  in  obtaining  their  independence.  A  gallant  young 
Frenchman,  of  whom  you  will  hear  more — General  Lafay- 
ette— had  already  joined  Washington's  staff.  For  three 
years'  the  French  helped  your  forefathers  with  men,  ships, 
and  money,  and  at  the  surrender  of  Yorktown  their  ser- 


266  [1774-1789 

vices  were  one  of  the  chief  causes  of  the  victory.  The 
French  took  the  side  of  the  United  States  in  order  to  feed 
their  ancient  grudge  against  England,  and  not  from  love 
for  the  revolted  colonies.  But  perhaps  it  is  not  best  to 
inquire  too  curiously  into  motives.  It  is  enough  for  you  to 
know  that  France  was  our  friend  when  we  sorely  needed 
a  friend,  and  that  it  will  become  you  to  be  grateful  to 
her  accordingly. 

The  other  event  of  which  this  history  must  say  some- 
thing is  a  story  of  a  necklace. 

On  the  18th  of  August,  1785,  Cardinal  Rohan,  a  member 
of  one  of  the  noblest  families  in  France,  was  arrested  on  his 
way  to  the  church  where  he  was  going  to  celebrate  mass, 
and  was  taken  into  the  king's  private  room,  where  Louis 
sat  very  stern,  with  his  wife  Marie  Antoinette  sitting  op- 
posite him  and  sterner  still. 

"Cardinal,"  said  the  king,  "you  bought  some  diamonds 
of  Boehmer  ?" 

"  Yes,  sire." 

"  What  did  you  do  with  them  ?" 

"  I  understood  they  had  been  sent  to  the  queen."  And 
the  cardinal  began  to  tremble  and  to  turn  red  and  white. 

"  Who  told  you  they  were  for  the  queen  ?" 

"  A  lady,"  stammered  the  cardinal ;  "  the  Countess  of  La 
Mothe-Valois." 

"  Did  it  seem  natural  to  you,"  asked  the  queen  bitterly, 
"  that  I  should  give  such  a  commission  to  Madame  de  Val- 
ois,  whom  I  despise,  to  be  executed  by  you,  to  whom  I 
have  not  spoken  for  years?" 

"  I  have  here,"  said  the  cardinal,  with  much  confusion,  "a 
letter  from  your  majesty  on  the  subject."  And  he  handed 
the  letter  to  the  king.  One  glance  at  it  was  sufficient. 

"The  letter  is  not  in  the  queen's  handwriting,  and  the 
signature  is  a  forgery." 

The  cardinal  replied  that  he  was  so  overcome  that  he 
could  not  stand  ;  might  he  retire  into  the  next  room  ? 

That  night  he  was  taken  to  the  Bastile.     The  story  of 


1774-1780]  267 

the  diamond  necklace  was  this  :  It  was  Avorth  throe  quar- 
ters of  a  million  dollars  of  our  money.  The  Countess  of  Va- 
lois  coveted  it,  and  begged  the  cardinal  to  buy  it  for  her. 
He  did  not  care  to  spend  so  much  money,  but  he  bought 
it,  telling  the  jeweller  it  was  for  the  queen.  Whether  Ma- 
dame de  Valois  deceived  him,  and  persuaded  him  that  she 
had  an  order  to  buy  it  for  the  queen,  or  whether  he  con- 
spired with  her  to  use  the  queen's  credit  to  cheat  the  jew- 
eller, was  never  rightly  known.  The  cardinal  was  tried 
before  the  Parliament  of  Pai'is  and  was  acquitted ;  Ma- 
dame de  Valois  was  convicted,  and  was  sentenced  to  be 
whipped,  branded,  and  imprisoned.  Meanwhile  the  neck- 
lace disappeared — the  stones  were  probably  sold  separately. 
The  queen  never  forgave  the  cardinal  ;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  people  never  forgave  the  queen  for  buying,  as 
they  supposed,  seven -hundred -thousand -dollar  necklaces 
when  the  poor  were  starving. 


MIKABEAU 


CHAPTER  XLI 
MIRABEAU 

A.D.  1789-1791 

IN  the  early  months  of  1789  the  French  people  elected 
members  of  the  States-General.  The  elections  passed  off 
quietly ;  but  at  Paris  the  shop  of  a  man  named  Revillon 
was  robbed,  because  he  was  said  to  have  declared  that 
fifteen  cents  a  day  was  pay  enough  for  a  working-man; 
and  at  Aix,  in  Provence,  a  hot-headed  noble  ordered  the 
troops  to  fire  at  the  people,  because  they  insisted  on  voting 
for  Mirabeau.  The  nobles  had  refused  to  choose  Mirabeau, 
though  he  was  a  marquis  ;  so  he  hired  a  store,  set  up  a 
sign,  "Mirabeau,  Dry-goods  Dealer,"  and  was  chosen  as 
a  deputy  of  the  third  estate.  It  had  been  settled  that  the 
States-General  should  consist  of  twelve  hundred  members, 
three  hundred  to  represent  the  nobles,  three  hundred  to 
represent  the  clergy,  and  six  hundred  to  represent  the 
third  estate,  or,  in  plain  words,  the  people. 

On  the  2d  of  May  the  king  received  them  at  Versailles. 
The  morning  was  wet ;  the  nobles  and  the  clergy  got  out 
of  their  carriages  and  entered  the  palace,  leaving  the 
members  of  the  third  estate  standing  outside  in  the  rain. 


1789-1791]  269 

On  the  following  Sunday  the  members  attended  mass 
together,  the  nobility  in  garments  of  cloth  of  gold,  with 
silk  cloaks,  lace  neckties,  and  plumed  hats ;  the  common 
clergy  in  surplices,  mantles,  and  square  caps ;  the  bishops 
in  purple  robes  ;  and  the  deputies  of  the  people  in  their 
common  every-day  clothes,  and  looking  shabby  by  the  side 
of  the  others.  The  king  and  queen  and  court  were  there 
in  splendid  attire,  flashing  with  diamonds  ;  the  streets 
leading  to  the  church  were  hung  with  tapestry  and  purple 
Velvet  spangled  with  lilies,  and  lined  with  troops  whose 
bands  played  martial  airs. 

When  the  States-General  met  for  the  despatch  of  busi- 
ness, it  appeared  that  one  great  hall  had  been  provided 
for  the  general  meetings  of  all  three  classes,  another  hall 
for  the  separate  use  of  the  clergy,  a  third  for  the  separate 
use  of  the  nobility,  but  none  for  the  separate  use  of  the 
third  estate. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Mirabeau,  "  we'll  sit  in  the  common 
hall." 

As  it  turned  out,  this  occupation  of  the  common  hall 
by  the  third  estate  made  the  nobles  and  clergy  figure  as 
outsiders. 

The  name  of  States-General  appearing  cumbersome,  that 
of  National  Assembly  was  adopted  on  the  suggestion  of 
the  Abbe  Sieyes.  The  body  was  sometimes  called  the 
Constitutional  Assembly  ;  in  this  country  it  would  have 
been  called  a  constitutional  convention.  Then  the  mem- 
bers of  the  third  estate,  finding  that  the  members  from 
the  Church  and  the  nobility  raised  objections  to  uniting 
with  them  for  the  business  they  had  to  do,  declared  that 
they  themselves  were  the  Assembly,  and  the  other  orders 
might  join  them  or  not,  as  they  pleased.  On  this  the  king 
took  possession  of  the  hall,  and  when  the  members  ap- 
proached it  next  day  they  found  the  doors  locked  and 
soldiers  guarding  them. 

Next  door  to  the  Assembly  Hall  was  a  tonnis- court — a 
dark,  bare  room  without  seats.  In  that  room  the  members 


270  [1789-1791 

took  refuge,  and  there  they  declared  that,  wherever  they 
chose  to  meet,  they  would  remain  the  National  Assem- 
bly. They  pledged  themselves  to  each  other  never  to  sep- 
arate till  they  had  done  the  work  the  people  had  set  them 
to  do. 

Three  days  afterward  the  king  ordered  them  to  meet 
him  in  the  Assembly  Hall.  There  he  told  them  that  he 
intended  to  govern  the  kingdom  in  his  own  way,  and  he 
bade  them  go  home.  Then  he  stalked  out. 

The  nobility  and  part  of  the  clergy  followed,  but  not  a 
MI -.'tuber  of  the  third  estate  budged  or  opened  his  mouth. 
A  king's  officer  spoke  up  : 

"  You  have  heard  the  orders  of  the  king.     Go  !" 

Said  Mirabeau:  "  We  will  not  go.  Tell  your  master  that 
we  are  here  by  the  will  of  the  people,  and  we  will  not  be 
driven  away  except  by  bayonets." 

Pretty  soon  the  nobility  and  the  clergy  got  frightened. 
Some  of  them  went  to  the  Assembly,  and  of  their  own  free 
will  gave  up  their  privileges  and  agreed  to  pay  their 
taxes  and  submit  to  the  laws  like  other  people.  Numbers 
of  soldiers  of  the  French  Guards  began  to  desert  and  to 
take  the  side  of  the  Assembly.  But  the  king  had  gathered 
round  him  several  regiments  of  Germans  and  Swiss,  who 
fought  for  pay  and  cared  nothing  for  the  rights  of  the 
people.  A  procession,  marching  through  the  streets  of 
Paris,  was  fired  upon  by  German  soldiers,  and  several  peo- 
ple killed  or  wounded.  This  was  first  blood. 

The  people  of  Paris  sacked  the  gunsmiths'  stores  and 
armed  themselves  with  muskets  which  they  found  in  the 
vaults  of  the  Invalides.  With  these  they  attacked  the 
Bastile,  on  July  14th,  1789. 

The  Bastile  was  a  fort  which  had  been  long  used  for  a 
prison.  Its  walls  were  nine  feet  thick,  and  it  had  eight 
towers  which  overlooked  Paris.  Soldiers  said  that  it  could 
not  be  taken  without  heavy  cannon,  and  the  peoplo  had 
none.  But  there  were  only  about  one  hundred  soldiers  in  the 
work,  and  a  mob  of  many  thousand  Parisians  surrounded 


BREAKING   INTO   THE   INVALIDES 


it,  all  panting  with  rage.  They  literally  broke  into  it  by 
force  of  numbers.  The  governor,  a  brave  old  soldier 
named  Delaunay,  had  refused  to  surrender  and  had  tried 
to  blow  the  fort  up.  But  at  last,  when  the  last  drawbridge 
had  been  lowered,  and  the  roaring,  surging  mob  were  pour- 
ing like  a  flood  into  the  work,  he  hoisted  the  white  flag. 
The  invaders  scattered  all  over  the  prison  in  search  of  pris- 
oners ;  they  found  seven  of  them  in  prison  cells  ;  one  had 
been  there  for  thirty  years,  another  since  his  childhood. 
They  also  found  on  the  walls  piteous  stories  that  had  been 
scratched  by  prisoners  who  had  died  there.  The  sight  of 
these  pitiful  inscriptions  and  of  the  poor  captives,  gaunt 
and  pale  from  their  long  imprisonment,  so  infuriated  the 


272  [1789-1791 

people  that  they  wrenched  Governor  Delaunay  from  the 
guards  who  had  him  in  charge,  chopped  him  in  pieces  with 
axes  and  knives,  and  set  his  head  on  the  point  of  a  pike. 

That  night,  as  the  king  was  sleeping,  after  planning  with 
his  courtiers  an  attack  on  Paris  at  the  head  of  his  Germans 
and  Swiss,  an  attendant  shook  him  till  he  woke  and  told 
him  the  news. 

"  Why !"  said  Louis,  yawning,  "  this  is  a  rebellion." 
"  Sire,"  said  the  attendant,  "  it  is  a  revolution." 
Next  day  he  hastened  to  the  Assembly,  prepared  to  yield 
everything.     He  entered  the  hall  with  no  guard.    "Gentle- 
men," said  he,  "you  have  been  afraid  of  me.     I  put  my 
trust  in  you." 

But  the  people  had  got  over  being  fooled  with  smooth 
words.  A  national  guard  was  raised  in  Paris,  and  every 
member  wore  a  blue -and -white  cockade.  The  king  put 
one  on  his  own  hat,  so  as  to  be  in  the  fashion.  The  peo- 
ple cheered  mightily  when  they  saw  it  on  his  head ;  but 
that  did  not  prevent  their  catching  Foulon,  one  of  his  min- 
isters— who,  like  a  noble  of  whom  I  have  told  you,  had  said 
that  the  people  might  eat  grass  if  they  were  hungry — ty- 
ing a  necklace  of  thistles  round  his  neck  and  a  bunch  of 
grass  round  his  waist,  tearing  him  from  the  hall  where  he 
was  going  to  be  tried,  dragging  him  down  the  stairs,  now 
head  down,  now  head  up,  hanging  his  half  dead  body  to  a 
lamp-post,  and  marching  round  Paris  with  his  bloody  head 
on  the  end  of  a  pike.  The  French  were  dreadfully  in  ear- 
nest by  this  time;  all  the  piled-up  passion  of  centuries  was 
boiling  over  at  once. 

In  the  country  parts,  where  the  peasants  had  borne  such 
dreadful  hardships  from  their  feudal  lords,  the  same  things 
were  done.  Castles  were  stormed,  gutted,  and  burned  ;  in 
many  cases  the  owners  and  their  families  were  massacred, 
I  am  afraid,  with  dreadful  cruelties.  In  larger  books  than 
this,  you  will  read  touching  stories  of  the  rescue  of  ladies 
of  noble  family  by  faithful  servants  from  furious  peasants, 
Who  woy!4  b.e  satisfied  with  nothing  short  qf  the  extinc-r 


STORMING   THE   BA  STILE 

tion  of  the  class  which  had  oppressed  them  so  long  and  so 
mercilessly. 

All  this  while  the  Assembly  was  trying  to  make  new  laws 
for  France.  It  was  found  impossible  to  mend  the  old  ones. 
A  young  man  of  whom  you  will  hear  more — his  name  was 
Robespierre — proposed  to  build  from  the  ground  up,  and 
though  he  was  a  poor  speaker,  with  a  harsh  voice  and  a 
bad  manner,  his  head  was  so  clear  that  the  Assembly  paid 
IS 


274  [1789-1791 

a  great  deal  of  attention  to  him.  The  king  seemed  to  be 
paralyzed  ;  he  went  about  in  a  feeble  way,  asking  advice 
of  every  one  he  met  ;  the  queen  was  far  more  of  a  man  ; 
she  gathered  foreign  soldiers  and  young  French  noblemen 
round  her,  and  made  ready  for  the  death-grapple  that  she 
saw  coming. 

She  was  not  the  only  woman  who  was  at  work.  Bread 
was  frightfully  scarce  in  Paris.  Women  could  not  feed 
their  children.  One  day,  when  they  found  there  was  no 
bread  at  the  bakers',  a  crowd 'of  women  collected  together, 
and,  arming  themselves  with  bludgeons,  broomsticks,  cut- 
lasses, hatchets,  and  pikes,  marched  to  Versailles,  under  the 
lead  of  a  vagabond  named  Maillard,  to  see  the  king.  As 
they  marched  other  women  joined  them,  and  so  did  some 
men.  They  were  a  sorry  crowd,  wild-eyed,  bedraggled, 
dirty,  coarse,  foul-mouthed,  many  of  them  drunken,  and 
most  of  them  barefoot.  What  made  them  so  terrible  was 
that  they  were  hungry.  The  king  received  a  few  of  them 
and  tried  to  pacify  them  with  sweet  words.  He  clasped 
one  virago  to  his  royal  bosom.  A  regiment  of  life-guards 
endeavored  to  push  them  back  without  opening  fire,  but 
lost  several  of  its  men.  At  last  General  Lafayette,  who 
had  returned  from  this  country  and  was  the  darling  of  the 
people,  arrived  at  Versailles,  got  most  of  the  women  back 
to  Paris,  where  bread  had  been  provided  for  them,  and  dis- 
persed the  mob  of  men  who  had  followed  them.  He  could 
only  do  this,  however,  by  undertaking  that  the  king  should 
go  back  from  Versailles  to  Paris  and  stay  there. 

The  king  and  queen  started  from  Versailles  at  one  in 
the  afternoon.  One  hundred  members  of  the  Assembly  fol- 
lowed them  in  carriages.  In  front  of  the  king's  carriage 
marched  the  remnant  of  the  furious  mob  of  women  of  the 
day  before,  waving  pikes  and  singing  horrible  songs.  Be- 
fore them  straggled  men  carrying  two  heads  of  life-guards- 
men on  the  ends  of  pikes.  Behind  the  king  rode  his  guards, 
unarmed  ;  and  all  along  the  road  Lafayette  had  scattered 
soldiers  to  guard  his  majesty  against  a  sudden  attack. 


DEATH  OP   GOVERNOR  DELATJNAY,  OP   THE  BASTTLE 

Considering  how  Louis  had  fought  against  returning  to 
Paris,  where  the  mob  frightened  him,  I  am  a  little  sur- 
prised at  his  address  to  the  mayor  when  he  reached  the 
City  Hall. 

"  I  return  with  confidence,"  he  said,  "  into  the  midst  of 
my  people  of  Paris." 

There  was  one  man  in  whom  the  king  really  had  confi- 
dence. That  was  Mirabeau.  Both  king  and  queen  saw 
him  frequently  in  secret  at  night,  and  took  counsel  with 


276  [1789-1791 

him.  It  has  been  said  that  he  was  in  their  pay.  I  think 
it  likely  that  he  took  money  from  them,  because  he  was 
always  wasteful  and  needy  ;  but  I  hope  that  what  he  did 
for  them  was  prompted  by  sympathy  and  not  bribery. 
The  "  tiger  that  has  had  the  small-pox,"  as  Mirabeau  called 
himself,  would  naturally  feel  proud  of  protecting  a  king. 

Whatever  his  motive  was,  it  was  soon  going  to  disap- 
pear, for  Mirabeau  was  dying.  The  nearer  death  came, 
the  more  powerful  he  grew.  In  the  Assembly  he  had 
always  been  a  tower  of  strength — he  was  now  master. 
Under  the  fire  of  his  eye  and  the  thunder  of  his  voice  the 
boldest  quailed.  His  doctors  told  him  he  must  die  if  he 
did  not  abstain  from  wine  and  work.  He  drank  heavily 
that  very  day,  and  spoke  five  times  in  the  Assembly.  On 
the  20th  of  April,  1791,  he  bade  a  friend  open  the  window 
of  his  room. 

"  I  am  going,"  he  said,  "  to  die  to-day.  Sprinkle  me 
with  flowers,  fill  the  air  with  music  and  perfume,  so  that  I 
can  sink  quietly  into  everlasting  sleep." 

They  gave  him  a  soothing  potion,  his  head  dropped  to 
one  side,  and  he  was  scone. 

'  O 

When  he  was  dead,  every  one  declared  that  he  was  the 
only  man  who  could  have  pulled  France  through  the  pres- 
ent agony.  Everybody  went  to  his  funeral.  All  Paris  put 
on  mourning  and  wept.  He  was  buried  in  the  Pantheon 
as  a  national  hero.  But  a  few  years  afterward,  when  some 
one  found  his  letters  to  the  queen,  showing  his  tender  sym- 
pathy for  the  poor  woman  in  her  sorrow,  the  angry  mob  of 
Paris  called  him  a  traitor,  tore  open  his  tomb,  and  scattered 
his  ashes  to  the  winds. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

THE   KING'S  FLIGHT,  IMPRISONMENT,  AND   DEATH 
A.D.  1791-1793 

THE  king  returned  to  Paris,  to  find  himself  a  prisoner. 
The  Assembly  believed  that  he  was  plotting  with  foreign- 
ers to  put  down  the  French  people  by  force  of  arms — which 
was,  in  fact,  the  case — and  kept  watch  of  him  accordingly. 
It  had  intercepted  despatches  of  his  and  of  the  queen's, 
which  showed  that,  while  he  was  professing  to  love  the  peo- 
ple, he  hated  them  in  his  heart,  and  was  only  waiting  for 
an  opportunity  to  set  his  foot  on  their  neck  once  more.  A 
few  hot-headed  members  of  the  Assembly  said  as  much  in 
their  speeches  ;  their  more  prudent  colleagues  kept  silent, 
but  they  thought  all  the  more.  I  am  not  surprised  that 
Louis  came  to  believe  that  his  life  was  not  safe  at  Paris, 
and  resolved  to  run  away.  But  it  was  not  in  him  to  be 
honest  or  truthful.  While  he  was  making  his  plans  for 
flight,  he  told  every  one  that  he  would  stay  in  Paris  to  the 
bitter  end.  He  assured  General  Lafayette  that  he  would 
remain  where  he  was  ;  he  told  his  minister,  who  told  the 
Assembly,  that  he  had  never  dreamed  of  leaving  France. 

Nevertheless,  in  the  night  of  June  20th,  1791,  disguised 
in  the  gray  coat  and  periwig  of  a  valet,  with  the  queen  and 
his  sister,  his  children  and  their  governess,  he  left  Paris  in 
a  travelling-carriage  from  the  Porte  St.  Martin.  He  had 
for  escort  three  life-guardsmen  disguised  as  servants  ;  and 
a  stanch  friend  of  the  queen's,  Monsieur  de  Bouille,  had 
stationed  parties  of  troops  on  the  road  which  he  was  to  fol- 
low. When  the  next  morning  dawned,  he  was  far  on  his 
way  to  Flanders. 

jU   nine  in  the  morning  the  Assembly  met.     Almost 


278  [1791-1793 

everybody  knew  of  the  king's  escape,  and  nobody  seemed 
to  mind  it.  The  Assembly  discussed  the  event  quite  calm- 
ly, and  simply  sent  for  the  ministers  of  state,  and  directed 
them  to  take  their  orders  from  it  instead  of  from  the  king. 
In  their  secret  hearts  the  Assembly  thought  it  was  a  good 
riddance,  lie  \vas  so  false  a  creature  that  they  foresaw 
they  might  have  to  deal  with  him  roughly  some  day.  As  a 
matter  of  form  they  directed  Lafayette,  who  commanded 
the  National  Guard,  to  have  him  pursued  and  brought  back. 
But  privately  they  all  hoped  that  he  had  got  so  good  a 
start  of  his  pursuers  that  he  would  be  able  to  cross  the 
border  before  he  could  be  overtaken.  He  was,  in  fact,  at 
Chalons,  on  the  Marne,  when  Lafayette's  troopers  started, 
and  was  pushing  on  as  fast  as  fresh  horses  could  draw  him. 

But  it  was  not  the  fate  of  this  man  to  be  saved.  At  St. 
Menehould,  a  few  miles  from  Chalons,  Louis  put  his  head 
out  of  the  carriage  and  was  recognized  by  Drouet,  the  son 
of  the  postmaster  and  a  strong  Republican.  Drouet  took 
horse,  rode  madly  through  the  night  to  Varennes,  on  the 
little  river  Aire,  and  warned  the  National  Guard  that  the 
king  was  coming,  on  his  way  to  join  the  enemies  of  France. 
Bouille,  the  queen's  friend,  had  some  hussars  in  the  place, 
but  they  refused  to  fight  against  the  people.  When  the 
king's  carriage  came  lumbering  up  and  crossed  the  river 
bridge,  it  found  the  road  blockaded  by  a  carriage  which 
Drouet  had  upset  on  purpose;  a  crowd  of  men,  with  loaded 
muskets  and  torches  flaring  in  the  black  night,  barred  the 
way. 

Said  the  captain  of  the  national  guard  of  Varennes: 
"  You  are  the  king  ?" 

Said  Louis  :  "I  am  not.  I  assure  you  that  you  are  mis- 
taken." 

But  others  came  up  who  recogni/ed  Louis  from  his  like- 
ness on  silver  coins,  and  he  had  to  confess  that  he  was  the 
king. 

While  the  crowd  were  discussing  what  should  be  done 
with  him,  Lafayette's  aide-de-camp,  who  had  ridden  I'usit-r 


1791-1793] 


279 


than  the  leaders  of  the  Assembly  intended,  appeared  at 
Varennes  with  orders  to  bring  back  the  royal  family  to 
Paris.  The  people  of  Varennes  were  sorry  for  the  king 
and  queen,  whose  grief  was  to.uching.  A  baker's  wife 
would  have  hid  them,  if  she  could.  But  the  National 
Guard  was  firm  ;  Lafayette's  guards  were  approaching ;  at 
eight  in  the  morning  the  carriage,  with  six  fresh  horses, 
started  on  the  return  journey  to  Paris. 


ilOUoK    Of    THE    JACOBIN    CLUB 

The  weather  was  hot.  The  carriage  was  eight  days  on 
the  way.  When  it  entered  a  town  or  a  village  the  people 
turned  out  in  a  body  to  see  it  pass.  Some  jeered,  but  more 
were  sorry,  seeing  what  was  coming.  When  the  king  en- 
tered Paris,  he  saw  the  walls  placarded  with  a  notice  post- 
ed by  order  of  the  Assembly  : 

"  Whoever  applauds  the  king  shall  be  whipped  ;  who- 
ever insults  him  shall  be  hanged." 


280  [1791-1793 

On  its  way  to  the  Tuileries  the  carriage  passed  through 
immense  crowds  of  men  and  women,  who  were  as  silent  as 
statues.  At  the  palace  Lafayette  received  the  royal  party, 
and  on  leaving  them  politely  inquired, 

"  Has  your  majesty  any  orders  for  me  ?" 

To  which  Louis  replied, 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  for  me  to  take  orders  from 
you,  not  you  from  me." 

In  effect,  that  very  morning  the  Assembly  had  suspend- 
ed Louis  from  his  functions  of  king  and  had  placed  a 
guard  over  his  person.  A  few  days  afterward  it  decided 
that  the  king  could  not  be  punished  for  trying  to  escape, 
and  he  was  restored  to  liberty  and  allowed  to  play  at  be- 
ing king  a  little  longer.  Having  settled  this  and  framed 
a  constitution  which  the  king  accepted — as  a  matter  of 
fact,  he  had  no  choice — it  adjourned,  without  day,  on  Sep- 
tember 30th,  1791,  not  one  single  member  having  won 
either  fortune,  or  place,  or  title,  or  power  by  his  thirty 
months'  work. 

Then  followed  another  Assembly  which  met  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  October  the  1st.  But  all  this  shifting  of  pow- 
er from  one  set  of  men  to  another  set  of  men  led  to  so  much 
confusion  that  it  was  hard  to  say  who  ruled  France  or 
Paris.  There  was  the  king,  who,  with  his  ministers,  gave 
orders  ;  there  was  the  Assembly,  which  gave  orders,  and 
sometimes  pretty  sharp  ones;  there  was  the  National  Guard, 
with  Lafayette  at  its  head,  which  was  ordered  about  a 
good  deal  by  the  others  ;  there  was  a  cit}r  government  of 
Paris,  which  was  called  the  Commune  and  at  times  had  a 
great  deal  to  say  ;  and  there  were  four  or  five  clubs — the 
Jacobins,  the  Feuillants,  the  Cordeliers,  and  the  like — which 
began  to  give  more  orders  than  all  the  others  put  together. 
Nobody  knew  which  of  these  to  obey,  and  none  of  them 
could  keep  the  Paris  mob  under  control. 

On  June  20th,  1792,  a  mob  of  thirty  thousand  men, 
women,  and  children,  bearing  muskets,  pikes,  knives,  and 
swords,  and  sharp  pieces  of  iron  on  the  end  of  bludgeons, 


1791-1793] 


waving  flags  and  singing,  burst  into  the  Assembly  Cham- 
>er,  and  with  noise  and  threats  crossed  over  to  the  Tuileries 
where  the  king  was,  broke  down  the  doors,  and  set  Louis 
on  a  stool  which  stood  on  a  table,  so  that  all  might  see  him 
At  the  head  of  the  mob  were  a  butcher  and  a  brewer 

Said  the  butcher  to  the  king  :  «  Cry,  'Long  live  the  na- 
tion ! 


STORMING   THE   TUILERIES 

"Long  live  the  nation  !"  echoed  the  king. 

"  Prove  it,  then,"  roared  the  butcher,  holding  out  a  red 
cap  of  liberty  on  the  top  of  a  pike. 

Louis  meekly  put  on  the  cap. 

The  brewer  insisted  that  the  little  prince  should  also  put 
on  a  red  cap.  When  he  had  done  so  the  great  crowd  went 
away  as  they  had  come,  having  killed  nobody  this  time. 

A  number  of  nobles,  unable  to  endure  the  loss  of  their 
qld  privileges,  bad  shaken  the  French  cJMst  off  their  feet 


282  [1791-1793 

and  gone  into  Germany,  where  they  found  friends  among 
the  kings  and  nobles  of  that  country,  and  both  together 
agreed  to  invade  France  and  wipe  the  French  mobs  off  the 
face  of  the  earth.  All  over  Europe  kings  made  common 
cause  with  Louis.  Eighty  thousand  soldiers,  fifteen  thou- 
sand of  whom  were  French  nobles  and  their  followers,  as- 
sembled at  Coblentz  to  march  on  Paris.  When  the  news 
came  the  Assembly  ordered  the  church-bells  to  ring  the 
tocsin,  minute-scans  were  fired,  the  walls  were  covered  with 

» 

placards — "The  country  is  in  danger" — and  every  man 
was  summoned  to  enroll  himself  in  a  military  company. 
While  this  was  going  on,  and  every  man's  blood  was  up,  it 
was  known  that  the  queen  was  writing  letters  to  the  enemy 
and  clapping  her  hands  over  the  news  of  his  coming. 

On  August  10th  the  mob  rose  again  and  once  more 
marched  into  the  Tuileries.  They  were  more  noisy  than 
before,  and  when  they  saw  the  king  they  called  him  names 
and  shook  their  fists  in  his  face.  He  was  in  an  agony  of 
irresolution  and  terror  till,  with  his  wife,  son,  and  sister, 
he  ran  away  through  a  howling  mob  to  the  Assembly  Hall. 

"  I  am  come,"  said  he,  "  to  prevent  a  great  crime." 

Almost  as  he  spoke  a  rattle  of  musketry  was  heard. 
The  mob  had  come  to  blows  with  the  Swiss  guards. 

"  Upon  my  honor,"  cried  the  king,  "  I  ordered  the  Swiss 
not  to  fire." 

Of  these  Swiss  there  were  seven  hundred  and  fifty,  in  or 
about  the  palace  ;  at  the  sight  of  blood  the  mob,  whi^h 
numbered  thousands,  became  like  wild  beasts.  Not  a  sin- 
gle guard  or  servant  escaped.  All  were  butchered  ;  their 
blood  covered  the  floor  so  thickly  that  it  was  hard  to  walk 
through  the  passages  of  the  palace  without  slipping. 
Wherever  a  servant  or  a  Swiss  was  found,  he  was  jabbed 
to  death  with  pikes,  his  body  thrown  out  of  window  and 
stripped  and  robbed  by  thieves  in  the  court-yard  below. 

Meantime  the  Assembly  placidly  continued  its  debates, 
while  howling  and  roaring  crowds  surrounded  the  building 
in  which  it  sat,  and  every  now  and  then  a  band  of  ruffians, 


1791-1793] 


283 


in  red  caps,  wooden  shoes,  and  with  pikes  in  their  hands, 
poked  their  heads  into  the  hall  to  see  if  members  were  at- 
tending to  their  work.  In  the  reporters'  gallery,  where 
the  heat  was  stifling  and  the  quarters  cramped,  the  king 
and  queen  and  dauphin,  starting  whenever  the  sound  of 
musketry  came  from  outside,  and  panting  with  terror, 
stayed  all  that  day  and  all  that  night ;  when  morning 
came  they  were  all  taken  to  jail,  and  for  safety  were  locked 
up  in  that  Temple  prison  which,  as  you  remember,  was  built 
by  the  Knights  Templar. 


SACKING   THE   ROYAL   ARSENAL 


When  the  news  of  the  king's  arrest  and  of  the  slaughter 
of  the  Swiss  reached  the  frontier,  the  Prussians  and  the 
absentee  nobles  broke  into  France.  Lafayette  and  the  sol- 
diers were  as  furious  as  the  foreigners  and  the  nobles  them- 
selves against  the  Paris  mob.  The  cry  again  arose  that 


284  [1791-1793 

Paris  was  in  dancref.    Then  the  mob  grew  more  frantic  than 

O  O 

ever,  and  many  people — priests,  friends  of  the  king  and 
queen,  nobles  and  their  servants — were  thrust  into  jail.  On 
Sunday,  September  2d,  a  whisper  went  round  that  the  jails 
were  not  safe.  In  every  prison  the  jailer  took  away  the  pris- 
oners' table-knives  ;  most  of  them  sent  their  families  away. 

You  remember  the  procession  of  hungry,  drunken,  and 
bedraggled  women  at  Versailles  in  1789.  That  procession 
was  led  by  a  brutal  vagabond  named  Maillard.  This  Mail- 
lard  now  collected  three  hundred  ruffians  like  himself,  fell 
upon  carriages  in  which  twenty -four  priests  were  being 
moved  from  one  prison  to  another,  and  murdered  every 
one.  Then  he  went  from  prison  to  prison  and  did  the 
same  thing  everywhere.  The  jailer  would  be  bidden  to 
bring  out  his  prisoners.  In  the  horrible  confusion  which 
prevailed  at  that  time,  he  would  suppose  that  Maillard  had 
authority  for  what  he  was  doing  and  would  obey.  Then 
a  form  of  mock  trial  would  take  place  in  the  prison  yard  : 
Maillard  would  say — in  a  formula  which  had  been  agreed 
upon  between  him  and  his  fellow-ruffians — "  Take  him  to 
La  Force  "  or  "  Set  him  at  liberty."  The  prisoner  would 
pass  through  the  wicket,  and,  once  outside,  the  gang,  with 
sword  and  pike  and  hatchet,  would  make  an  end  of  him. 
In  this  way,  on  that  2d  and  3d  of  September,  about  a 
thousand  poor  prisoners  were  done  to  death  with  savage 
cruelty  by  Maillard  and  his  three  hundred  ;  and  five  or 
six  thousand  more  were  murdered  away  from  the  prisons. 

Among  those  who  perished  was  the  beautiful  Marie  de 
Lamballe,  the  queen's  friend  and  the  sweetest  woman  at 
court.  As  she  was  going  through  the  farce  of  a  trial,  a 
drummer -boy  struck  her  down  with  a  stick.  She  was 
quickly  despatched  with  sword  and  knives ;  her  body  was 
cut  in  pieces,  and  each  piece  carried  around  Paris  on  the 
point  of  a  pike. 

Another  cruel  death  was  that  of  the  Archbishop  of  Aries, 
an  old,  white-haired  priest.  They  dragged  him  out  into 
the  yard. 


1791-1793] 


285 


"Are  you  the  archbishop?"  asked  a  ruffian,  whose  hands 
and  face  were  smeared  with  blood. 

"I  am,"  said  the  priest  intrepidly. 

"Then  take  that,"  said  the  assassin,  striking  him  on  the 
head  with  his  sword.  Again  and  again  he  struck,  till  the 
old  man  fell ;  then  a  pike  was  driven  into  his  breast  with 
such  force  that  the  iron  head  came  off  and  put  an  end  to 
his  agony. 


MASSACRE   AT   THE   ABBAYE 

Governor  Sombreuil,  of  the  Invalides,  was  saved  by  his 
beautiful  daughter,  who,  with  piteous  tears  and  entreaties, 
clasped  her  father  round  the  neck  and  interposed  her  body 
between  him  and  the  pikes. 

"You  want  to  save  him?"  cried  a  brute.  "Then  drink 
the  blood  of  the  aristocrats !"  and  he  handed  her  a  can 
which  he  had  filled  with  blood. 

She  drank,  and  her  father  was  released. 

When  the  news  of  the  massacre  reached  people's  knowl- 
edge, a  cry  of  horror  arose.  The  Assembly  ordered  the 
murderers  to  be  put  on  trial.  The  Commune,  which  had 


286  [1791-1793 

given  money  to  Maillard  and  his  gang,  began  to  make  ex- 
cuses. The  clubs  were  silent.  The  army  boiled  over  with 
rage.  Lafayette  threw  up  his  command.  It  looked  as 
though  the  infamous  wretches  who  had  committed  the 
murders  of  September  had  wrecked  the  revolution,  though 
they  were  only  a  handful  and  had  no  one  behind  them. 
The  fact  was  that  sucli  confusion  reigned  that  no  one  knew 
whom  to  obey,  and  things  had  got  to  grow  worse  before 
they  could  get  better. 

The  massacre  took  place  on  the  2d  and  3d  of  September. 
On  the  21st  of  the  same  month  the  Legislative  Assembly, 
finding  itself  unable  to  restore  order,  made  way  for  a  new 
assembly,  which  was  called  the  National  Assembly.  This 
new  body  abolished  royalty  in  France.  But  it  had  yet  to 
decide  what  was  to  be  done  with  King  Louis,  who,  with 
his  family,  was  in  the  gloomy  Temple  prison,  guarded  by 
rough  jailers,  who  thought  it  was  patriotic  to  be  rude  to 
them.  It  spent  many  weeks  in  debating,  and  finally,  on 
December  3d,  it  decided  that  it  would  try  the  king  on  a 
charge  of  treason  to  the  nation.  Robespierre  wanted  a 
sentence  without  a  trial,  but  the  convention  thought  that 
a  king  should  have  a  trial  like  other  persons  accused  of 
crime. 

At  eleven  in  the  morning  of  December  llth  the  mayor 
of  Paris  appeared  at  the  Temple,  and  in  a  stern  voice  or- 
dered Louis  to  follow  him.  Their  carriage  was  escorted 
by  troopers,  preceded  and  followed  by  cannon.  At  half- 
past  two  the  king  entered  the  Assembly  Hall.  „  The  presi- 
dent looked  at  him  coldly,  and  bade  him  be  seated  and 
answer  the  questions  that  were  put  to  him.  He  answered 
them  all ;  then  he  demanded  the  assistance  of  counsel. 
This  was  granted,  but  when  the  trial  adjourned  for  the 
day  he  was  not  allowed  to  see  his  family.  They  went  to 
bed  in  an  agony  of  suspense,  not  knowing  what  had  hap- 
pened. The  trial  lasted  fifteen  days ;  and  after  that,  for 
several  days,  the  members  of  the  convention  debated.  Ver- 
gniaud  and  the  Girondins  would  have  saved  the  king  if  they 


1791-1793] 


287 


could  have  found  a  way  to  do  so  without  failing  in  their 
idea  of  their  duty  to  the  people.  Robespierre  and  the  Ja- 
cobins were  for  his  immediate  execution,  guilty  or  not 
guilty.  Every  one  was  curious  to  see  how  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  the  king's  cousin  (who  now  called  himself  Philip 
Equality,  in  order  to  curry  favor  with  the  people),  would 
vote  on  the  question. 


PARTING  BETWEEN  THE  KING  AND  HIS  FAMILY 

The  vote  was  taken  on  the  15th  of  January,  1793,  and 
Louis  was  found  guilty  by  683  votes  out  of  749  members. 
Philip  Equality  was  one  of  the  683.  On  the  following  day 
the  vote  was  taken  on  the  punishment  which  should  be  in- 
flicted. The  voting  began  at  half-past  seven  in  the  morn- 
ing and  lasted  all  that  day,  all  through  the  next  night, 


288  [1791-1793 

and  all  the  next  clay.     When  the  vote  was  counted,  Presi- 
dent Vergniaud  rose  and  in  a  solemn  Voice  declared, 

"  Seven  hundred  and  twenty-one  votes  have  been  cast. 
Two  hundred  and  eighty  votes  are  for  imprisonment  or 
exile  ;  seventy-two  for  death  with  long  reprieves ;  three 
hundred  and  sixty-one  for  death  unconditionally.  I  there- 
fore declare  that  the  punishment  of  Louis  Capet  is  death." 

Philip  Equality  had  sneaked  up  to  the  voting- desk, 
and,  with  the  ashen  hue  of  a  coward  on  his  cheek,  voted 
death. 

All  through  the  thirty  -  six  hours'  session  ladies  had 
been  present,  eating  ices  and  oranges  and  drinking  liquors. 
The  gallery  was  full  of  people  who  brought  bottles  of  wine, 
and  kept  betting  on  the  course  of  the  voting,  and  clapping 
and  stamping  when  the  vote  pleased  them.  Many  slept, 
and  snored  while  the  life  and  death  of  him  who  had  been 
master  of  France  were  trembling  in  the  balance. 

Louis  was  alone  in  his  room  when  his  lawyers  entered  to 
give  him  the  bad  news.  Before  they  spoke  he  said,  with  a 
sad  smile, 

"There  is  a  legend  in  our  family  that,  before  a  death,  a' 
lady  dressed  all  in  white  appears  to  the  one  who  is  to  die — 
I  saw  the  white  lady  last  night." 

The  king  was  allowed  to  send  for  a  priest  and  to  see  his 
family.  His  wife,  his  sister,  and  his  son  threw  themselves 
into  his  arms,  and  for  an  hour  and  a  half  they  spoke  in 
broken  whispers  mingled  with  sobs.  Their  grief  was  so 
touching  that  the  brutal  guards  drew  off,  so  as  not  to  over- 
hear what  they  said. 

At  five  in  the  morning  of  January  21st,  all  the  troops 
in  Paris  were  under  arms,  and  in  the  dark  morning  fog 
drums  were  beating,  bugles  blowing,  horses  tramping,  and 
heavy  guns  rumbling  over  the  pavement.  Louis  rose  early, 
shaved  and  dressed  himself,  heard  mass,  and  took  the  com- 
munion. At  half-past  eight  a  tremendous  clatter  of  hoofs 
and  wheels  resounded  through  the  street  on  which  the  Tem- 
ple stood,  the  door  of  the  prison  was  flung  open,  and  San- 


EXECUTION   OF  LOUIS  XVI 

terre,  the  brewer,  in  gorgeous  uniform  and  with  a  savage 
frown  on  his  face,  appeared  in  the  king's  room  at  the  head 
of  ten  soldiers. 

"  You  have  come  for  me  ?"  asked  the  king. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  curt  answer. 

A  servant  offered  him  his  overcoat. 

"  I  shall  not  need  it,"  said  Louis.     "  Give  me  my  hat. 
Now,  sir  " — to  Santerre — "  lead  on." 

The  carriage,  which  was  surrounded  by  troops,  took  two 
hours  to  traverse  the  silent  crowd  in  the  streets,  on  the 
way  to  the  place  of  execution.  Louis  conversed  calmly 
with  the  priest  and  the  brewer.  When  the  carriage  stopped 
he  alighted,  pushed  back  the  guards  who  would  have  un- 
dressed him,  threw  off  his  coat,  hat,  and  neckcloth,  and 
opened  his  shirt ;  then,  with  a  firm  tread,  he  mounted  the 
scaffold  and  began  to  speak  to  the  vast  crowd  of  people. 
19 


290  [1791-1793 

"I  die  innocent  of  the  crimes  which  have  been  laid  to 
my  charge.  I  pardon  those  who  have  caused  my  death, 
and  I  pray  to  God — 

Just  then  Santerre  signalled  the  drums  to  beat;  they 
drowned  his  voice,  and  at  the  same  time  cries  in  the  impa- 
tient crowd  summoned  executioner  Sanson  to  do  his  duty. 
lie  and  two  assistants  roughly  seized  Louis,  threw  him  on 
the  plank,  shoved  the  plank  under  the  groove,  the  blade  of 
the  guillotine  fell,  and  the  king's  head  rolled  into  a  basket, 
while  his  blood  spurted  upon  the  boards  and  trickled  upon 
the  sawdust  under  the  platform. 

Paris  was  uncomfortable  all  that  day.  Shops  were  closed 
and  shutters  put  on  the  windows.  People  were  horror- 
stricken.  Even  Republicans  were  shocked,  and  the  king 
had  still  some  friends  who  were  furious.  The  day  before, 
as  Lepelletier,  the  President  of  the  Parliament  of  Paris, 
was  sitting  down  to  eat  his  dinner  at  a  restaurant,  a  life- 
guardsman  approached  him  and  asked, 

"  Art  thou  Lepelletier,  the  villain  who  voted  for  the  death 
of  the  king  ?" 

"  I  am  Lepelletier,"  said  the  president,  "  but  I  am  not 
a  villain." 

"Take  that  for  thy  reward !"  said  the  man,  plunging  his 
sword  into  Lepelletier's  side. 

Pieces  of  the  dead  king's  clothes  and  handkerchiefs 
dipped  in  his  blood  sold  at  enormous  prices  and  were 
treasured  as  relics.  The  members  of  the  convention  did  not 
sleep  soundly  for  many  nights  afterward.  The  wives  of 
some  of  them  swore  they  would  never,  never  lay  their  heads 
on  pillows  beside  theirs. 

France  was  probably  unsafe  as  long  as  Louis  lived.  lie 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  conspire  with  her  ene- 
mies in  order  to  keep  the  kingly  power.  Let  us  thank 
Providence  that  in  this  country  there  are  no  dangers  which 
require  such  desperate  remedies. 


CHAPTER   XLTTT 

MARAT.  AND    CHARLOTTE   CORDAY 

A.D.  1792-1793 

AMONG  the  members  of  the  convention  who  had  sentenced 
Louis  to  death,  some,  such  as  the  Girondists,  whose  leader 
was  Vergniaud,  did  so  from  a  sense  of  duty  to  their  coun- 
try ;  others,  like  most  of  the  Jacobins,  acted  from  pure  ha- 
tred of  kings  because  they  were  kings.  Of  these  Robes- 
pierre was  the  leader — I  shall  tell  you  of  him  in  the  next 
chapter ;  but  the  most  active  and  noisy  of  the  king-killers 
was  John  Paul  Marat. 

This  man  had  been  a  monster  from  his  birth.  He  was 
only  five  feet  high,  with  a  prodigiously  large  head  and  a 
hideous  face.  He  had  wild,  glaring  eyes  and  a  mouth 
gaping  like  the  mouth  of  a  toad.  He  affected  to  glory  in 
uncleanness,  and  went  about  in  a  ragged  coat,  a  broken 
hat,  boots  without  stockings,  a  pair  of  old  leather  breeches, 
and  a  dirty  shirt  which  was  always  open,  showing  his  yel- 
low chest.  He  lived  in  the  midst  of  filth  and  squalor,  not 
because  he  liked  them,  but  because  he  wanted  to  show  how 
poor  and  humble  he  was. 

At  the  time  the  troubles  in  France  began  he  came  to 
Paris  from  his  native  home,  and  started  a  newspaper  which 
he  called  the  Friend  of  the  People.  In  this  paper,  which 
was  shockingly  brutal  and  indecent,  he  wrote  articles  day 
after  day  telling  the  people  of  Paris  that  all  would  be  well 
with  them  if  they  killed  nobles  and  priests  enough.  At 
first  he  thought  about  six  hundred  of  the  best  people  would 
do,  but  afterward  he  raised  his  figure  to  two  hundred  and 
seventy  thousand;  and  sometimes  he  seemed  to  think  that 


292  [1792-1793 

everybody  should  be  killed  except  himself  and  the  sub- 
scribers to  his  paper. 

Now,  you  know  that  a  person  of  this  kind  would  not 
give  us  any  trouble  at  all.  We  should  lock  him  up  in  a 
well-conducted  insane  asylum  and  keep  him  there.  But,  a 
hundred  years  ago,  in  France  people  were  unsettled  in 
their  minds.  They  felt  sore  over  the  wrongs  they  had 
suffered  and  nervous  about  the  trouble  they  were  going 
through.  There  were  numbers  of  people  who  were  not 
sure  whether  there  might  not  be  some  truth  in  Marat's 
bloody  doctrines.  When  he  kept  preaching  day  after  day 
that  all  would  be  well  if  throats  were  cut,  people's  reason 
was  so  shaken  by  the  astonishing  changes  that  were  taking 
place  around  them  that  they  didn't  know  but  he  might  be 
right.  So  Marat  came  to  be  a  most  mischievous,  as  well 
as  a  most  abominable,  creature. 

He  made  so  much  noise  that  he  became  a  popular  leader, 
and  was  appointed  a  member  of  the  Paris  Commune.  It 
was  he  who  put  into  Maillard's  head  the  idea  of  massa- 
cring the  prisoners,  but  his  notion  was  different  from  Mail- 
lard's — he  was  for  setting  fire  to  the  prisons  and  burning 
the  prisoners  alive.  At  one  time  Lafayette  resolved  to 
lock  him  up,  but  he  escaped.  Then  the  Assembly  ordered 
his  arrest,  but  Robespierre  stood  his  friend,  and  he  went 
free.  Then  he  became  president  of  the  Jacobin  Club,  and 
it  became  very  dangerous  indeed  to  quarrel  with  him.  He 
insisted  on  forcing  his  way  into  the  Assembly  and  lectur- 
ing the  members  on  their  weakness  in  sparing  lives.  He 
was  one  of  the  loudest  bawlers  for  the  execution  of  the 
king.  His  speeches,  like  his  articles,  were  all  on  one  text, 
"Kill  !  kill  !  kill  !" 

lie  was  so  mad  on  the  subject  of  killing  that  one  day, 
when  he  forced  himself  into  the  Assembly  and  disgusted  the 
members  till  one  of  them  proposed  his  arrest,  he  drew  a  pis- 
tol and  threatened  to  kill  himself  then  and  there.  You  may 
perhaps  regret  that  he  was  not  allowed  to  fulfil  his  threat. 

Of  course,  as  all  the  French  had  not  lost  their  heads,  und. 


CHARLOTTE  COKDAY  IN  PRISON 


indeed  as  most  of  them,  at  bottom,  continued  to  distinguish 
between  right  and  wrong,  there  were  many  who  loathed 
and  despised  Marat,  without  being  on  the  side  of  the  king. 
Among  these  was  a  young  lady  whose  name  was  Charlotte 
Cord  ay. 

She  was  a  motherless  girl  who  lived  with  an  aunt  in  the 
pretty  old  town  of  Caen,  in  Normandy.  Her  people  were 
poor,  but  Charlotte  had  been  well-educated  ;  she  spent  days 
sitting  by  a  fountain  in  the  sunny  square  of  her  aunt's 
house,  poring  over  books,  and  trying  to  understand  the 


294  [1792-1793 

stirring  times  in  which  she  lived.  She  had  no  girl  friend, 
and  though  in  secret  she  loved  a  young  soldier  named 
Franquelin,  they  were  not  engaged  ;  she  had  never  told 
her  love.  She  was  tall,  with  brown  hair  ;  her  face  was 
pleasant,  rather  than  beautiful ;  she  was  very  straight  and 
strong,  as  the  Norman  girls  generally  are.  This  girl  now 
resolved  to  give  her  life  to  rid  France  of  the  monster 
Marat. 

On  a  sunny  morning  in  July,  while  the  lizards  were  glid- 
ing along  the  top  of  the  stone  fences,  and  the  big  Norman 
cows  were  lying  down  in  the  fat  grass  after  their  break- 
fast, Charlotte  came  out  of  her  home,  handing  a  toy  to  a 
neighbor's  child. 

"Here,  Robert,"  said  she,  "this  is  for  you.  Be  a  good 
boy  and  kiss  me  ;  you  will  never  see  me  again." 

At  seven  in  the  evening  on  July  13th,  she  left  her  lodging 
in  Paris  for  the  broken-down  shanty  in  which  Marat  lived. 
She  wore  a  plain  white  gown,  with  a  silk  scarf  round  her 
neck.  On  her  head  was  a  Norman  cap,  fastened  with  a 
broad  green  ribbon,  and  with  a  lace  trimming  which  flut- 
tered in  the  wind.  Her  hair  hung  loose  down  her  neck. 
In  her  dress  she  hid  a  long,  sharp  knife  with  a  black 
handle.  She  walked  with  steady  step  and  asked  for 
Marat. 

He  was  in  his  bath,  which  was  covered  with  a  filthy 
cloth,  spotted  with  ink.  His  head,  shoulders,  and  right 
arm  were  all  that  could  be  seen  of  him  ;  in  front  of  him  a 
board  covered  with  papers  lay  across  the  bath.  When  he 
heard  Charlotte's  voice,  saying  that  she  came  from  Caen 
and  wished  to  see  Marat,  he  shouted, 

"  Let  the  citizeness  in." 

As  she  stood  by  the  bath  he  questioned  her  about  Caen. 
She  answered  him  simply,  giving  him  the  names  of  the 
Girondins  who  were  there — people  whom  she  loved  and 
whom  lie  hated.  As  he  wrote  down  their  names  he  ground 
his  teeth  and  growled,  licking  his  cruel  lips, 

"They  shall  all  go  to  the  guillotine  within  a  week." 


1792-1793] 


295 


At  this  she  could  no  longer  restrain  herself.  She  drew 
the  knife  from  her  bosom  and,  with  a  strong,  swift  motion, 
drove  the  blade  up  to  the  hilt  into  Marat's  heart,  then 
drew  it  out  and  flung  it  on  the  floor.  Marat  gave  one  cry, 
"Help!  help!"  and  died.  His  blood  gushed  in  a  flood  and 
crimsoned  the  water  in  the  bath.  A  servant-man,  rushing 
in,  knocked  Charlotte  down  with  a  chair,  and  a  woman  who 
kept  Marat's  house  jumped  on  her  as  she  lay  and  almost 
stamped  the  life  out  of  her. 


THE   COAST   OF  NORMANDY 


Pretty  soon  the  lodging  was  full  of  people,  who  glared 
at  Charlotte.  She — pale,  silent,  quite  composed — stood  mo- 
tionless ;  when  questions  were  put  to  her  she  said  that  she 
alone  had  killed  Marat.  She  was  hurried  to  prison  ;  on 
entering  its  door,  with  her  hands  tightly  bound  by  cords 
and  her  arms  griped  by  soldiers,  her  strength  erave  way, 
and  she  fainted. 


296  [1792-1793 

By  the  time-  she  was  put  on  her  trial  she  had  recovered 
her  coolness.     To  the  president  she  said, 

"  It  was  I  who  killed  Marat." 

"  Why  did  you  kill  him  ?"  asked  the  court. 

"  Because  of  his  crimes." 

"  Who  were  your  accomplices  ?" 

"  I  had  no  accomplice." 

It  did  not  take  the  jury  long  to  find  her  guilty,  and 
Fouquier  Tinvillc,  who  was  public  prosecutor,  pressed  for 
immediate  sentence.  She  had  scarcely  got  back  to  her 
room  in  the  prison  when  the  executioner  appeared,  with  a 
long  red  chemise  and  a  pair  of  scissors  in  his  hand.  With 
the  scissors  he  cut  off  her  long  hair — she  begged  one  lock 
for  a  young  artist  who  had  taken  her  portrait  in  prison. 
Then  she  drew  on  the  red  chemise  of  the  condemned  over 
her  other  clothes,  her  hands  were  bound  behind  her  back, 
and  she  was  thrust  into  a  cart  without  springs,  which  jogged 
slowly  through  the  streets  on  its  way  to  the  square  where 
the  guillotine  stood.  Just  as  the  cart  started  a  thunder- 
storm with  rain  burst  over  Paris.  But  it  did  not  scatter 
the  rabble  which  swarmed  in  the  street,  and  which  fol- 
lowed the  cart  with  groans  and  hisses. 

The  women  who  had  marched  to  Versailles  a  few  years 
before  were  all  there,  and  cursed  Charlotte  with  their  foul 
tongues. 

She  stepped  upon  tho  platform  as  lightly  as  her  pinioned 
arms  and  her  long  chemise  permitted.  When  the  execu- 
tioner tore  away  the  handkerchief  which  covered  her  neck 
a  blush  overspread  her  face.  In  an  instant  strong  hands 
flung  her  down  upon  the  plank,  the  blade  fell,  and  from 
her  neck  a  jet  of  blood  spurted.  The  executioner,  who 
was  even  more  brutal  than  such  people  usually  are,  seized 
the  head  by  the  hair,  held  it  up  before  the  people,  and 
slapped  the  poor  dead  cheeks  with  his  open  hand. 

That  night  the  rabble  of  Paris  said  that  the  friend  of 
the  people  had  been  avenged. 

A  hundred  years  have  passed  since  then,  and  see  how 


1792-1793] 


297 


public  opinion  has  changed !  To-day,  Marat  is  accounted 
one  of  the  worst  scoundrels  who  ever  figured  in  history ; 
and  Charlotte  Corday,  murderess  as  she  was,  has  taken  a 
place  among  the  heroines  who  have  ennobled  humanity 
and  given  their  lives  to  save  others.  Statues,  paintings, 
and  poems  commemorate  her  deed,  while  France  would 
like  to  forget  that  Marat  ever  lived. 


HOTEL  DB  VILLJS 


ROBESPIERRE 


CHAPTER   XLIV 
ROBESPIERRE 
A.D.  1792-1794 

IN  order  to  give  you  a  consecutive  story  of  Marat,  1 
passed  over  events  which  happened  before  his  death.  I 
must  now  tu'rn  back  to  them. 

There  was  confusion  enough  in  Paris  while  the  king 
lived ;  it  grew  worse  after  his  death.  Not  only  did  the 
political  clubs  try  to  govern  the  country,  but  forty-eight 
new  bodies,  called  sections,  which  were  not  by  any  means 


1792-1794]  29,9 

composed  of  the  wisest  or  best  men  in  Paris,  undertook  the 
same  tiling,  and  in  the  Assembly  itself  two  parties  arose 
which  contended  for  the  mastery.  One  of  these  was  called 
the  Girondists.  Their  leader  Vergniaud  I  have  already 
mentioned.  He  was  a  pure  man,  honestly  seeking  the 
freedom  and  happiness  of  France,  and  without  a  thought 
of  himself  or  ill-will  for  any  one.  He  was  a  sublime  ora- 
tor, who  could  stir  men  to  fury  or  melt  them  to  tears; 
but  he  was  hardly  strong  enough  for  those  rough  times. 

The  other  party  was  called  the  Jacobins.  Their  leader 
was  Robespierre,  lie  was  a  lawyer — a  small,  lean  man, 
with  a  mean  face,  but  a  dandy  in  his  dress.  He  wore  fine 
clothes  and  what  ladies  nowadays  would  call  a  corsage 
bouquet.  He  was  not  like  Vergniaud.  He  was  cold,  cal- 
culating, cruel,  and  was  always  thinking  of  himself  and 
ready  to  strike  down  every  one  who  stood  in  his  way.  He 
told  every  one  that  he  was  the  most  virtuous  person  in 
France,  and,  as  virtuous  people  were  pretty  scarce  at  that 
time,  he  gained  a  good  deal  of  credit  in  consequence. 

Another  leader  of  the  Assembly  was  Danton.  He  was 
like  Mirabeau  in  looks — a  big  man,  with  a  shaggy  head  of 
hair  and  a  roaring  voice.  He  was  violent  and  blood- 
thirsty, but  clear-headed.  His  motto  was:  "Boldness! 
boldness  !  boldness  !"  Robespierre  at  first  liked  him,  then 
grew  jealous  of  him ;  you  will  see  how  the  flowered  dandy 
disposed  of  him  in  the  end. 

Meantime  all  Europe  had  formed  a  coalition  against 
France  to  punish  the  'French  for  the  execution  of  their 
king.  They  had  gathered  a  great  army  on  the  Rhine,  and, 
with  the  help  of  the  nobles  who  had  left  their  country  and 
were  called  Emigrants,  proposed  to  march  on  Paris.  They 
were  held  in  check  by  French  armies  under  Lafayette  and 
Dumouriez.  But  after  a  time  these  generals  became  so 
disgusted  with  affairs  at  Paris  that  they  threw  up  their 
commands.  Lafayette  entered  Germany  and  was  thrown 
into  an  Austrian  prison.  Dumouriez  went  to  England. 
The  Assembly  ordered  every  able-bodied  man  to  enroll 


300  [1792-1794 

him  -L-lf  in  the  army,  and  appointed  a  Committee  of  Public 
Safety  to  look  after  traitors  at  home.  A  revolutionary 
tribunal  was  also  appointed  to  try  persons  suspected  of 
disloyalty  to  the  nation,  and  it  was  specially  provided  that 
it  should  not  be  bound  by  the  rules  of  law.  A  bad  plan, 
as  you  will  see.  It  was  easy  for  a  Jacobin  to  say  he  sus- 
pected this  or  that  person,  and  thus  the  prisons  were  kept 
pretty  full,  though  the  tribunal  did  its  best  to  thin  them 
out  by  finding  almost  everybody  guilty. 

The  tribunal  began  by  sending  General  Custine  and  a 
number  of  citi/ens  of  Rouen  to  the  guillotine  on  a  charge 
of  disloyalty.  Two  new  members  were  then  added  to  the 
Committee  of  Safety,  Billaud  Varennes  and  Collot  d'Her- 
bois,  than  whom  there  were  no  wickeder  or  more  blood- 
thirsty villains  in  France.  They  insisted  that  a  reign  of 
terror  should  be  established  to  cow  people. 

All  of  these  measures  were  opposed  by  the  Girondists, 
who  did  not  like  the  guillotine  and  had  no  love  for  blood. 
But  they  were  fiercely  insisted  on  by  Robespierre  and  his 
followers.  The  Jacobins  even  went  so  far  as  to  demand 
that  the  Girondists  themselves,  Queen  Marie  Antoinette, 
who  was  still  in  the  Temple  prison,  and  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  who  called  himself  Philip  Equality,  should  be 
brought  to  trial  as  enemies  of  the  people. 

The  poor  queen  had  languished  in  her  jail  ever  since  the 
king's  execution,  but  for  some  time  she  had  the  comfort 
of  the  society  of  her  daughter  and  her  sister-in-law,  Eliza- 
beth. Her  son,  the  young  dauphin,  had  been  taken  from 
her.  She  was  now  removed  to  the  Conciergerie  prison, 
and  placed  in  solitary  confinement  in  a  damp,  ill-smelling 
room.  A  man  who  had  been  a  robber  mounted  guard 
over  her  and  was  in  her  room  day  and  night.  Her  clothes 
were  worn  out  and  in  rags,  her  stockings  were  in  holes,  and 
she  had  no  shoes.  Both  she  and  the  dauphin  had  been 
intrusted  by  the  Assembly  to  the  guard  of  a  wretch  named 
Hebert,  who  had  been  ticket-taker  at  a  theatre  and  had 
stolen  the  receipts. 


1792-1794]  3Q1 

She  was  brought  to  trial  on  October  14th,  1793,  just  ten 
months  after  the  execution  of  her  husband.  She  was  only 
thirty-eight  years  old,  but  her  hair  was  snow  white,  her 
beauty  was  gone,  her  color  had  faded,  her  cheeks  were 


MARIE  ANTOINETTE 


sunken.  She  had  not  been  a  loyal  queen  to  France,  but 
any  man  with  a  heart  in  his  bosom  would  have  pitied  her 
now.  It  did  not  take  long  to  find  her  guilty.  She  dressed 
herself  all  in  white,  cut  off  her  hair  with  her  own  hands, 
gave  her  poor,  thin  wrists  to  the  executioner  to  bind 
them  behind  her  back,  and  went  to  her  rest  meekly  and 
bravely. 


302  [1792-1794 

I  may  as  well  tell  you  hero  of  the  fate  of  her  son,  the 
dauphin.  He  was  locked  up  in  the  Temple  prison  with  his 
father  and  mother,  as  you  remember,  on  August  13th, 
1792,  when  he  was  seven  years  old.  On  July  3d,  1793,  he 
was  dragged  from  his  mother  and  shut  up  by  himself  in  a 
room  which  was  full  of  rats.  He  was  a  timid,  nervous 
child,  and  trembled  when  a  rat  scurried  past  him.  For 
two  years  he  lived  in  that  room,  with  no  one  to  play  with, 
no  one  to  speak  to.  His  bed  was  never  made,  his  windows 
were  never  opened,  his  underclothes  were  hardly  ever 
changed.  He  had  no  books  to  read  and  no  light  at  night. 
Under  this  treatment  both  his  body  and  his  mind  gave 
way.  He  sat  the  livelong  day  in  a  chair,  and  when  his 
keeper,  a  cobbler  named  Simon,  who  shamefully  neglected 
and  abused  him,  came  in  and  spoke  to  him,  he  would  make 
no  answer.  At  last  he  lost  his  mind  altogether,  and  it  was 
a  happy  release  when  he  died,  at  ten  years  of  age. 

Having  started  in  on  their  reign  of  terror,  the  Jacobins 
followed  it  up.  Just  a  fortnight  after  the  queen's  death 
they  arrested  twenty-two  Girondists,  with  Vergniaud  at 
their  head,  and  held  them  for  trial  on  a  charge  of  treason. 
They  were  the  flower  of  France,  the  wisest  and  purest 
men  of  the  Revolution.  But  they  were  accused  by  Robes- 
pierre of  having  conspired  against  the  republic,  and,  of 
course,  they  were  convicted.  When  they  left  their  prison 
in  the  morning,  they  promised  their  fellow  prisoners  to  let 
them  know  how  they  had  fared.  They  kept  their  promise 
by  singing  the  verse  of  the  Marseillaise  hymn — 

"  Allons,  enfans  de  la  patrie, 
Le  jour  de  gloire  est  arrive." 

(Come  all  ye  sons  of  France, 
The  day  of  glory's  come  at  last.) 

That  night  they  spent  in  cheerful  conversation.  When 
day  dawned,  Vergniaud  took  his  watch,  scratched  his  in- 
itials and  the  date  on  the  case,  and  sent  it  to  a  young  lady  to 
•whom  he  was  tenderly  attached,  and  whom  he  had  intended 


THE  DAUPHIN  IN  THE  TEMPLE 

to  marry.  They  were  borne  in  five  carts  to  the  guillotine. 
As  they  stepped  on  the  platform,  all,  with  one  accord,  sang 
the  Marseillaise.  The  chant  grew  feebler  and  feebler  as 
singer  after  singer  fell  on  the  fatal  plank.  At  last  only 
Vergniaud  was  left.  With  his  last  breath  he  sang — 

"  The  day  of  glory's  come  at  last." 

The  Jacobins  murdered  women  as  willingly  as  men. 
They  sent  to  the  guillotine  Madame  Roland,  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  and  gifted  women  of  the  day,  but  a  Giron- 
dist. She  died  bravely,  saying, 

"  O  Liberty  !  What  crimes  are  committed  in  thy  name !" 
Then  followed  poor  old  Madame  Dubarry,  who  strug- 
gled and  fought  with  the  executioner  ;  Madame  Elizabeth, 
sister  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth,  who  died  bravely  ;  and  a  host 
of  other  women,  many  of  whom  were  young  and  beauti- 
ful, and  whose  only  fault  was  that  their  husbands,  or  their 
brothers,  or  their  fathers  had  been  nobles  or  stood  in  the 
way  of  the  Jacobins. 


304  [1792-1794 

As  for  the  men,  the  executioner  wore  himself  out  in  put- 
ting them  to  death.  Danton  was  put  on  his  trial,  was  not 
allowed  to  produce  witnesses,  and  was  executed ;  so  was 
Camille  Desmoulins,  one  of  the  brightest  members  of  the 
convention,  who  had  been  an  intimate  friend  of  Robes- 
pierre, and  was  the  husband  of  one  of  the  loveliest  and 
sweetest  women  of  that  day  ;  so  was  Lavoisier,  the  great 
chemist ;  so  was  Bailly,  one  of  the  best  and  purest  French- 
men who  ever  lived.  The  spies  of  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety  hunted  down  every  one  who  had  been  a  noble  or  a 
priest,  or  who  was  opposed  to  bloody  murder;  they,  their 
wives,  their  children,  and  even  their  servants,  were  sent 
to  prison,  and  in  three  or  four  days  many  of  them  were 
guillotined.  The  guillotine  was  the  great  show  of  Paris  ; 
some  days  as  many  as  fifty  persons  had  their  heads  cut  off ; 
when  the  number  fell  as  low  as  twenty,  the  rabble  grum- 
bled that  they  were  cheated. 

Men  made  jokes  about  the  awful  blade  which  severed 
so  many  necks ;  they  called  it  the  Little  Tickler.  Vile 
women  used  to  take  their  knitting  and  watch  the  execu- 
tioners from  chairs  which  were  kept  for  them,  from  day  to 
day,  round  the  platform  on  which  the  terrible  instrument  of 
death  stood.  They  kept  count  of  the  victims  by  means  of 
knots  in  their  worsted.  I  think  that  many  of  the  people 
of  Paris  at  that  time  had  gone  mad. 

What  happened  at  the  capital  happened  elsewhere. 

A  broken-down  actor  named  Collot  d'Herbois,  who  was 
a  friend  of  Robespierre  and  was  called  the  Tiger,  was 
sent  to  Lyons.  He  arrested  hundreds  of  priests,  nobles, 
and  other  people,  old  and  young  men,  women,  and  even 
young  children  ;  and,  finding  that  he  could  not  kill  them 
fast  enough  with  the  guillotine,  he  made  them  stand  in 
long  rows  and  shot  them  down  with  artillery.  After  each 
discharge  of  the  great  guns  soldiers  went  round  to  finish 
with  their  bayonets  those  who  still  breathed.  When  three 
women  begged  of  him  the  lives  of  their  husbands,  he  had 
them  tie4  to  posts  near  the  execution  ground,  so  that  their 


1792-1794]  3Q5 

husbands'  blood  should  spurt  on  them.  This  brute  was 
afterward  exiled  to  Cayenne,  and  killed  himself  by  drink- 
ing  a  bottle  of  brandy  at  a  sitting. 

At  Nantes,  the  murder  business  was  in  the  hands  of  a 
man  named  Carrier.  He,  like  Collot  d'Herbois,  found  the 
guillotine  too  slow  ;  he  used  to  put  two  or  three  hundred 
priests,  nobles,  and  others,  with  women  and  children,  into 
boats ;  when  the  boats  reached  deep  water  in  the  river 


EXECUTIONS  OF  THE   GIRONDISTS 


Loire,  plugs  in  their  sides  were  pulled  out,  and  the  boats 
sank  to  the  bottom  with  their  living  contents,  the  hatches 

beino-  battened  down.    Sometimes  Carrier  would  entertain 

o 

his  friends  by  giving  them  a  show  of  men  and  women  tied 
together  in  pairs  so  that  they  could  not  move  their  arms 
or  legs,  and  thrown  into  the  river ;  he  and  his  friends 
thought  it  capital  fun  to  watch  their  helpless  struggles. 
He  lived  to  be  guillotined. 
20 


306  [1792-1794 

Another  savage  Jacobin  was  Couthon.  He  was  Robes- 
pierre's bosom  friend,  and  sent  many  a  good  man  to  the 
guillotine.  His  time  came  at  last.  When  he  ascended 
the  platform  he  could  not  be  laid  on  his  face,  as  he  was 
frightfully  deformed ;  the  executioner  had  to  lay  him  on 
his  side,  so  as  to  cut  his  head  off.  All  these  wretches,  as 
you  see,  got  their  punishment  in  this  world. 

I  need  not  tell  you  that  when  these  horrors  were  going 
on  business  was  greatly  disturbed.  People  did  not  pay 
taxes.  The  government  could  not  borrow  money  ;  it  issued 
paper-money  called  assign ats,  which  very  soon  fell  so  much 
in  value  that  a  loaf  of  bread  cost  twelve  dollars  of  our 
money.  The  butchers'  and  grocers'  stores  were  robbed,  and 
after  a  time  they  only  opened  their  doors  to  those  they 
knew;  but  still  numbers  of  people  starved.  Everybody 
was  afraid  of  his  neighbor,  for  fear  of  being  denounced  as  an 
enemy  of  the  nation.  The  women  were  in  great  distress, 
for  the  churches  were  closed,  and  at  the  instigation  of  Ro- 
bespierre the  Christian  religion  had  been  abolished  by  law. 

But  this  could  not  go  on  forever.  The  people  of  Paris 
sickened  at  last  of  the  daily  butcheries.  Shop-keepers  be- 
gan to  put  up  their  shutters  when  the  dreadful  carts  passed, 
and  in  the  St.  Antoine  suburbs  sturdy  workmen  frowned 
and  scowled  when  Robespierre's  wonderful  virtue  was 
spoken  of.  He  had  put  his  leading  rivals  out  of  the  way. 
But  new  rivals  were  springing  up  all  around  him,  and  in 
the  Assembly  and  among  the  people  a  feeling  of  loathing 
for  never-ending  bloodshed  was  growing.  He  stayed  away 
from  the  Assembly  for  a  month  to  see  if  it  would  subside. 
When  he  returned,  in  his  blue  coat  and  brass  buttons,  nan- 
keen breeches  and  blooming  nosegay,  members  affected  not 
to  see  him.  Those  who  did  set  eyes  on  him  glared  at 
him.  No  man  took  his  hand.  You  see,  there  was  hardly 
a  member  there  who  had  not  lost  some  loved  one  through 
this  man.  A  murmur  rose,  and  swelled  and  swelled  and 
swelled,  until  at  last  it  became  a  roar  from  right  to  left 
and  gallery  and  floor, 


1792-1794] 


307 


"Arrest  the  traitor!  Down  with  the  tyrant  !  Down 
with  him  !" 

He  rose,  staggered,  turned  red  and  white,  tried  to  speak, 
but  his  tongue  was  too  dry  to  make  sounds.  He  could 
only  froth  at  the  mouth  in  his  rage.  A  member  shouted, 

"  It  is  Danton's  blood  that  is  choking  you." 


MEMORIAL   CUP   AND  SAUCEK  OP   THE   GUILLOTTNE 

111  such  wild  tumult  as  even  that  tumultuous  Assembly 
had  never  known  before,  amid  howls  and  groans  and 
shouts  and  shaking  of  fists  and  tearing  of  hair,  Robes- 
pierre was  declared  to  be  an  outlaw,  and  was  sent  to  be 
tried  by  the  very  court  he  had  created  to  convict  innocent 
men  of  being  traitors.  To  prevent  a  rescue  by  his  Jaco- 


308  [1792-1794 

bin  friends,  an  intrepid  soldier  named  Barras  patrolled  the 
streets.  Brought  to  bay  at  last,  with  rage  in  his  heart 
and  curses  on  his  tongue,  Robespierre  drew  a  pistol  and 
shot  himself  in  the  face.  But  the  wound  was  slight;  he 
was  put  on  a  board,  and  carried  to  the  rooms  of  the  Com- 
mittee of  Safety,  and  laid  on  a  table.  He  still  wore  his 
blue  coat,  nankeen  breeches,  and  white  stockings  ;  he  kept 
stanching  the  blood  from  his  face  with  bits  of  paper,  until 
a  surgeon  dressed  the  wound. 

It  was  four  in  the  afternoon  when  he  was  taken  to  the 
guillotine.  Soldiers  pointed  him  out  with  the  points  of 
their  sabres  ;  men  hooted,  women  hissed  and  spat  as  he 
passed  ;  the  executioner  made  him  stand  up  and  roughly 
tore  the  bloody  bandage  from  his  jaw.  He  shrieked  with 
the  pain,  while  from  the  crowd  round  the  guillotine  a 
gray-haired  woman,  all  in  black,  sprang  forth  and,  stretch- 
ing a  skinny  arm,  cried  shrilly, 

"  Descend  to  hell,  villain,  covered  with  the  curses  of 
every  mother  in  France  !" 

This  time  when  the  knife  fell  every  one  breathed  more 
freely.  In  a  \veek  from  the  time  of  his  execution  the 
guillotine  went  out  of  general  business,  and  ten  thousand 
people  who  were  in  prisons  for  political  offences  were  set 
free.  A  weight  was  lifted  off  every  soul,  and  the  people, 
eager  to  show  their  disgust  with  the  crew  which  had  ruled 
them  so  long,  took  Marat's  remains  out  of  his  grave  in  the 
Pantheon  and  threw  them  into  the  gutter. 

During  the  twenty -two  months  that  Robespierre  had 
held  the  chief  power,  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
sixty-two  persons  had  died  by  the  guillotine  in  Paris  ;  and 
this  is  besides  those  who  had  been  put  to  death  by  his 
agents  at  Lyons,  Nantes,  Bordeaux,  Marseilles,  and  in  La 
Vendee.  Ingenious  writers  have  tried  to  explain  that 
Robespierre's  motives  were  good,  and  that  he  really  be- 
lieved that  he  was  doing  right.  I  think  myself  that  he 
wanted  to  climb  upon  a  throne  by  a  bloody  ladder,  and 
that  the  happiness  of  his  country  never  troubled  him  at  all. 


CHAPTER   XLV 

THE    LAST   OF  THE   ASSEMBLY 

A.D.  1794-1796 

AFTER  the  fall  of  Robespierre,  Paris  had  a  rest.  Fou- 
quier  Tinville,  who  had  sent  so  many  innocent  people  to 
their  death,  and  his  friend  Carrier,  followed  him  to  execu- 
tion, but  the  dreadful  processions  of  carts  to  the  guillotine 
were  stopped. 

This,  however,  was  only  a  breathing-spell.  There  was 
no  power  anywhere  strong  enough  to  preserve  order,  and 
people  had  not  yet  settled  down  to  quiet  lives  after  the 
excitement  of  the  Reign  of  Terror.  The  Assembly  claimed 
to  rule  France,  but  the  Jacobin  Club  also  claimed  to  have 
a  good  deal  to  say  about  that,  and  the  forty-eight  sections 
of  Paris  were  quite  sure  that  they  ruled  that  city.  Among 
the  three,  fights  were  constantly  breaking  out. 

Paris  and  most  of  the  other  French  towns  were  in  dire 
straits.  Owing  to  the  turmoil  which  had  prevailed  all 
over  the  country  the  fields  had  not  been  properly  tilled, 
and  grain  was  scarce.  The  Parisians  were  put  on  short 
rations — first,  a  pound  of  bread  for  each  person  per  day, 
and  next,  only  two  ounces.  The  winter  of  1794-95  was 
extremely  cold  ;  all  the  rivers  froze  over  so  solidly  that 
in  Belgium,  where  war  was  raging,  a  regiment  of  cavalry 
captured  a  fleet  of  war-ships  which  were  frozen  in  the  ice. 
When  the  Seine  froze  over  no  fuel  could  be  got  into  Paris, 
and  the  poor  people  suffered  terribly  from  cold. 

While  they  were  shivering  and  starving  another  class 
of  people,  who  had  kept  out  of  the  trouble  of  the  past  five 
years  and  who  still  had  money,  and  who  had  made  money 
by  speculating  in  assignats  or  buying  church  lands  or  sup- 


310 


[1794-1796 


plying  the  armies,  were  leading  gay  lives  to  console  them- 
selves for  the  anxieties  they  had  undergone.  They  dressed 
splendidly  and  gave  fine  entertain- 
ments. The  men  wore  their  hair  in 
rolls,  huge  cravats,  short  coats  with 
long  tails,  vast  waistcoats,  and  tight 
trousers  ;  they  all  carried  thick  sticks 
— not  for  show.  They  were  called 
"gilded  youth,"  "  incredibles,"  "  mus- 
cadins."  The  ladies  wore  long  gowns 

fj    O 

with  high  waists  and  no  hoops  ;  their 
hair  was  done  up  in  fillets  and  bound 
with  a  single  ribbon  ;  on  their  feet 
they  wore  sandals  fastened  with  rib- 
bons which  crossed  each  other  over 
the  ankle,  and  stockings  with  fingers 
for  each  toe,  on  which  it  was  fashion- 
able to  wear  rings.  The  men  wore 
powder  in  their  hair,  the  ladies  not. 
The  churches  had  opened  again,  and 
people  could  pray  at  the  altars  if  they  wanted  to  ;  the 
theatres  remained  closed. 

All  the  men,  and  especially  the  young  men,  of  this  bet- 
ter class  were  opposed  to  the  Jacobin  Club  ;  and  when 
the  Jacobins  began  in  their  old  way  to  hector  and  bully 
the  Assembly,  and  to  trample  the  laws  under  foot  as  a  par- 
cel of  savages  might  have  done,  the  gilded  youth  resolved 
to  see  how  hard  they  could  hit  with  their  thick  sticks. 

They  did  not  arm  themselves  with  guns  or  pikes  or 
knives  ;  but  whenever  the  Jacobins  pranced  through  the 
streets,  calling  for  the  life  of  this  good  man  or  that  good 
man,  and  ranting  and  roaring,  the  gilded  youth  began 
hitting  them  on  the  head  with  their  thick  sticks.  The 
Jacobins  were  so  much  surprised  at  finding  that  the  gen- 
tlemen, as  they  sneeringly  called  them,  could  fight,  that 
they  thought  there  must  be  some  mistake.  They  went 
back  to  their  club,  called  out  their  biggest  bullies,  and  sal- 


HAT  WORN  IN   1T95 


A  REPUBLICAN   ADDRESSING   THE  PEOPLE 

lied  forth  again.  Again  the  gilded  youth  stepped  up  with 
smiles,  and  the  thick  sticks  and  Jacobin  heads  renewed 
their  acquaintance.  Then  the  Jacobin  Club  got  some  tried 
soldiers  to  head  its  forces,  and  went  again  to  battle  ;  but 
it  was  of  no  use  ;  as  you  may  suppose,  the  gilded  youth 
had  more  grit  and  pluck  than  murderers  and  brawlers,  and 
the  Jacobins  went  howling  back  to  their  club,  with  cracked 
crowns  and  bloody  noses.  Once  they  put  a  lot  of  horrid 
women  at  their  head  and  marched  into  the  Assembly  Cham- 
ber, to  threaten  and  bully  and  swagger  in  their  old  way. 
These  were  the  same  women  who  had  marched  to  Ver- 
sailles, and  had  afterward  sat  round  the  guillotine.  When 
the  gilded  youth  heard  that  the  Jacobins  had  invaded  the 
Assembly,  they  quickly  turned  out  and  marched  at  the 
double-quick,  sticks  in  hand.  The  Jacobins,  who  by  this 
time  knew  those  sticks  very  well,  did  not  stop  to  argue, 
but  scurried  out  as  fast  as  the  doors  would  let  them  ;  the 
ladies  were  disposed  to  linger,  but  for  them  the  gilded 


312  [1794-1796 

youth  had  brought  whips  which  they  plied  steadily  and 
smartly,  till  the  sweet  creatures  ran  out,  crying  that  a  man 
must  be  a  brute  to  strike  a  woman.  Then  the  Assembly 
abolished  the  Jacobin  Club,  and  there  was  an  end  of  that 
nuisance. 

But  the  sections  remained.  There  were  forty-eight  of 
them,  and  all  agreed  to  follow  the  lead  of  the  Lepelletier 
section.  They  had  forty  thousand  men  in  arms  under  their 
orders,  and  it  was  simply  impossible  for  the  Assembly  to 
carry  on  the  business  of  governing  France,  so  long  as 
they  continued  to  dictate  to  it  and  threaten  it  and  defy 
its  authority.  One  of  the  two — either  the  sections  or  the 
Assembly — must  go  to  the  wall. 

The  Assembly  sent  for  Barras,  who  had  commanded  the 
troops  when  Robespierre  was  arrested,  and  asked  him  would 
he  undertake  to  put  down  the  sections  ?  He  said  he  would, 
if  he  might  choose  his  second  in  command. 

The  man  he  chose  was  a  captain  of  artillery,  twenty- 
five  years  of  age — a  small,  thin  man  with  long  black  hair 
and  an  olive  complexion.  He  had  made  a  name  for  himself 
by  showing  the  French  how  to  take  Toulon  from  the  Eng- 
lish. But  he  had  not  made  a  fortune.  He  was  very  poor 
and  knew  hardly  anybody.  He  used  to  walk  the  streets  of 
Paris  in  a  gray  overcoat  buttoned  to  his  chin,  a  round  hat 
pulled  over  his  eyes,  and  a  black  cravat  badly  tied.  There 
was  something  in  his  face  which  made  people  turn  round 
to  look  at  him  ;  for  he  was  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 

He  made  his  plans  swiftly.  He  secured  all  the  field  guns 
near  Paris,  and  planted  them  so  as  to  command  the  long  St. 
Honore  street,  the  cross-streets,  the  quays,  and  the  bridges. 
His  infantry  he  distributed  so  that  at  the  point  of  conflict 
they  could  pour  in  two  shots  to  the  section's  one,  besides 
raking  the  cross-streets.  When  his  men  were  all  in  place, 
and  all  his  guns  were  just  where  he  wanted  them,  at  half- 
past  four  in  the  afternoon  he  mounted  his  horse,  and  gave 
orders  to  open  fire  upon  the  troops  of  the  sections,  who 
were  on  the  steps  of  the  church  of  St.  Roch. 


1794-1796] 


313 


His  fire  was  so  straight  and  so  rapid  that  the  section 
men  could  not  stand  it.  They  began  to  drop  one  by  one, 
then  they  broke  and  ran  down  the  streets  toward  the  river. 
At  every  crossing  infantry  poured  volleys  into  them  ;  at 
the  squares,  quays,  and  bridges  cannon  opened  on  them 
with  grape,  mowing  them  down  by  scores.  By  six  o'clock 
every  member  of  the  section's  army  was  either  dead  or 
wounded  or  hiding  in  his  house.  All  that  night  the  big 
guns  thundered  with  blank  cartridge,  and  the  section  men 
shivered.  Napoleon  had  resolved  they  should  not  forget 
that  night.  And  they  did  not.  The  sections  followed  the 
Jacobins  into  history. 

Thus  freed  from  its  enemies,  the  Assembly  adopted  a 
new  constitution,  under  which  France  was  to  be  governed 
by  a  house  of  ancients,  like  our  Senate  of  the  United  States, 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE 


314  %  [1794-1706 

an  assembly,  like  our  House  of  Representatives,  and  five 
directors,  who  were  to  do  the  work  of  our  President.  Which 
done,  the  Assembly  adjourned,  not  to  meet  again,  having 
done  well  for  its  country  and  laid  the  foundation  for  a 
French  republic. 

Paris  again  had  peace,  and  becan.e  once  more  the  live- 
liest city  in  Europe.  There  never  were  such  gay  parties 
or  such  joyous  society  as  in  the  winter  of  1795-96.  Charm- 
ing women  swarmed.  Among  them  was  Madame  de  Stael, 
who  was  not  a  beauty,  to  be  sure,  but  who  was  clever  and 
witty  and  knew  everything  from  high  politics  to  milli- 
nery ;  Madame  Tallien,  who  had  the  face  of  an  angel  and 
the  figure  of  a  nymph  ;  Madame  Recamier,  who  had  feet 
and  hands  so  small  and  white  and  finely  shaped  that  they 
were  the  talk  of  the  town  ;  Madame  Beauharnais,  who 
could  turn  any  man's  head,  though  she  had  to  keep  her 
mouth  shut,  because  her  teeth  were  bad,  and  false  teeth 
had  not  then  been  invented  ;  and  others  whose  bright  eyes 
and  rosy  cheeks  and  merry  laughter — you  may  be  sure 
they  had  forgotten  all  about  the  guillotine — made  life  in 
their  society  a  dream  of  Paradise.  At  the  feet  of  these 
beauties  knelt  "  incredibles,"  many  of  whom  afterward 
proved  that  they  had  good  stuff  in  them — among  others 
brave  young  Hoche,  who  had  risen  in  one  year  from  pri- 
vate to  general,  and  who  was  handsome  as  a  young  Apollo ; 
and  the  young  man  with  an  olive  complexion,  piercing 
eyes,  and  a  grave  face,  who  began  to  be  known  as  General 
Bonaparte. 

You  remember  that  when  the  States-General  undertook 
to  mend  the  laws  of  France,  they  found  it  could  not  be 
done.  Almost  everything  was  bad,  and  it  was  necessary 
to  build  anew  from  the  ground  up.  The  several  assemblies 
which  met  one  after  another  had  done  their  best  to  pull 
down  and  build  up  afresh.  And  some  of  the  changes  must 
have  been  puzzling. 

They  changed  the  names  of  the  years.  Instead  of  dating 
from  the  birth  of  Christ,  as  Christian  nations  do,  they 


1794-1796] 


315 


dated  from  the  foundation  of  the  republic,  as  the  Romans 
had  from  the  foundation  of  Rome;  thus  the  year  1793 
became  year  1.  Then  they  changed  the  names  of  the 
months.  The  21st  of  September  became  New  Year's  Day, 


MADAME   DE   STAEL 

and  the  thirty  days  following  were  called  the  Vintage 
Month.  Then  followed  a  month  which  was  called  Chilly 
Month,  one  called  Frosty  Month,  then  in  succession  months 
called  Snowy,  Showery,  Windy,  the  month  of  Buds,  of 
Flowers,  of  Meadows,  of  Harvests,  of  Heat,  and  of  Fruits. 
Sunday  was  abolished ;  and  instead,  every  tenth  day  was 
observed  as  a  day  of  rest,  when  people  went  to  the  coun- 
try with  their  families  for  a  holiday.  I  need  not  tell  you 
that  these  changes  did  not  last,  and  that  the  old  names 
and  the  old  divisions  of  time  were  soon  restored. 


CHAPTER    XLVI 

BONAPARTE 

A.D.  1796-1799 

You  remember  that  when  Louis  the  Sixteenth  was  guil- 
lotined, all  Europe  declared  war  on  France  to  punish  her. 
Austria — of  which  country  Marie  Antoinette  was  a  native 
— Prussia,  Italy,  Sardinia,  Holland,  England,  and  Spain — 
all  joined  forces  to  crush  the  nation  which  believed  in  free- 
dom and  did  not  believe  in  kings.  You  might  suppose 
that  such  a  combination  of  enemies,  falling  upon  France 
when  she  was  distracted  by  dissensions  and  troubles  of  all 
kinds  at  home,  would  have  made  short  work  of  her.  But 
a  brave  nation,  when  driven  to  the  wall,  is  capable  of  tre- 
mendous efforts,  and  is  apt  to  produce  great  men. 

The  army  of  Emigrants,  Prussians,  and  Austrians  which 
gathered  at  Coblentz  just  after  the  death  of  Louis  the  Six- 
teenth actually  got  into  France,  and  was  on  the  high  road 
to  Paris  when  it  was  attacked  by  Dumouriez  and  beaten 
back  at  Valmy  and  Jemappes.  Dumouriez  soon  afterward 
quarrelled  with  the  government  at  Paris  and  left  his  army. 
It  fell  under  the  command  of  General  Pichegru,  who  not 
only  pushed  the  enemy  farther  back,  but  entered  Holland, 
conquered  it,  and  established  a  republic  there  ;  but  lie  also 
fell  out  with  the  Paris  government,  left  bis  army,  and  was 
succeeded  by  Moreau,  who  made  himself  famous  by  plan- 
ning the  most  skilful  retreats  that  had  ever  been  known. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  country  the  Bretons,  who  were 
then  commonly  called  Vendeans,  and  who  were  wrong- 
headed  and  obstinate,  took  up  arms  to  put  down  the  repub- 
lic and  restore  the  monarchy.  They  got  help  from  England, 
and,  as  they  had  some  exceedingly  brave  and  intelligent 


1796-1799]  317 

leaders,  they  gave  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  Against  them 
the  government  sent  a  soldier  who  was  more  famous  for 
attacking  than  retreating — the  General  Hoehe  of  whom  I 
have  told  you.  He  penned  up  the  Vendeans  with  a  circle 
of  troops  that  was  like  an  iron  chain,  and  beat  the  English 
till  they  were  very  glad  to  get  on  board  their  ships  and 
go  home  again. 

The  wars  of  France  were  managed  by  a  war  minister 
whose  name  was  Carnot ;  he  was  an  ancestor  of  the  pres- 
ent President  of  France.  He  resolved  not  to  wait  to  be  at- 
tacked, but  to  attack  the  enemy  in  their  own  countries.  The 
army  on  the  Rhine  was  ordered  to  strike  into  Germany ; 
General  Hoche  was  told  to  invade  Ireland  ;  to  carry  on 
the  war  in  Italy  against  the  King  of  Sardinia  and  the  Em- 
peror of  Austria,  Carnot  chose  General  Bonaparte. 

The  trouble  with  all  these  wars  was  that  France  had 
nothing  to  carry  them  on  with  but  pluck  and  skill :  she 
had  no  money,  no  trained  troops,  no  supplies.  When 
Bonaparte  crossed  the  Alps,  in  March,  1796,  his  soldiers 
were  in  rags  and  barefoot ;  the  army  chest  was  empty  ;  he 
had  not  a  week's  provisions  with  him  ;  some  regiments  had 
twice  as  many  men  as  muskets.  He  stirred  their  courage 
with  a  little  speech  he  made  them  : 

"  Soldiers,  you  are  ill- fed  and  almost  naked  !  I  am  going 
to  lead  you  into  the  most  fertile  plains  in  the  world,  where 
you  will  find  large  cities  and  rich  provinces,  honor,  glory, 
and  wealth." 

Fifteen  days  afterward  he  again  addressed  them  : 

"  Soldiers,  in  a  fortnight  you  have  gained  six  victories, 
taken  twenty-one  flags,  fifty-five  cannon,  several  forts,  and 
fifteen  thousand  prisoners.  You  have  gained  victories 
without  cannon,  crossed  rivers  without  bridges,  made 
forced  marches  without  shoes,  bivouacked  without  bread!" 

Fancy  how  words  like  these  stirred  the  troops'  souls! 
It  was  actually  true  that  in  less  than  three  weeks  he  had 
overrun  all  Piedmont,  and  the  Italians  were  at  his  feet. 
But  he  had  the  Austrians  still  to  deal  with.  They  were 


318  [1796-1799 

more  numerous  than  the  French  ;  they  had  strong  forts 
to  cover  their  rear ;  they  had  experienced  generals.  The 
trouble  with  these  generals  was  that  they  were  slow  and 
methodical  and  fought  strictly  according  to  the  rules  of 
war,  while  Bonaparte  cared  nothing  for  rules,  but  dashed 
here  and  there,  as  his  genius  prompted  him,  fell  upon  the  en- 
emy's right  when  he  should  have  fallen  on  his  left,  marched 
so  swiftly  that  he  always  turned  up  before  he  was  expect- 
ed, and,  though  his  force  was  inferior  to  that  of  Austria,  he 
so  managed  that  at  the  point  of  battle  he  always  had  more 
troops  than  his  enemy.  As  an  old  Austrian  general  said, 
"  Here  is  an  absolute  boy  who  knows  nothing  of  the  mil- 
itary art ;  now  he  is  on  our  front,  now  on  our  flank,  now  in 
our  rear.  Such  violations  of  plain  rules  cannot  be  justified." 

Justified  or  not,  they  led  to  victory.  In  a  single  cam- 
paign he  swept  the  Austrians  out  of  Italy  ;  Genoa,  Milan, 
Parma,  Leghorn,  Mantua,  Bologna,  Ferrara,  and  ever  so 
many  other  strong  places  fell  into  French  hands ;  and 
every  place  which  Bonaparte  took  had  to  pay  him  a  sum 
of  money,  to  send  him  a  quantity  of  supplies,  and  to  yield 
to  Paris  a  certain  number  of  fine  pictures.  The  Duke  of 
Modena  had  to  pay  ten  millions  of  francs,  Milan  twenty 
millions,  the  pope  twenty-one  millions,  and  other  cities  and 
potentates  in  proportion ;  so  that  Bonaparte  was  able  not 
only  to  feed  and  clothe  his  own  army,  but  to  send  to  the 
government  at  home  large  sums  of  money,  besides  some  of 
the  finest  works  of  art  in  Italy. 

This  was  not  accomplished  without  desperate  battles. 
At  a  place  named  Lodi,  on  the  river  Adda,  the  French 
were  on  one  side  of  the  river,  the  Austrians  on  the  other. 
There  was  a  little  .bridge,  one  end  of  which  the  Austrians 
held  with  sixteen  thousand  troops  and  twenty  guns,  which 
were  trained  on  the  bridge.  Bonaparte  took  six  thou- 
sand grenadiers,  and  led  them  himself  on  a  quick  run  to 
the  bridge.  The  Austrian  cannon  opened  fire  and  mowed 
down  the  front  ranks.  But  Bonaparte,  waving  a  flag  <>V<T 
his  head,  called  on  the  rear  ranks  to  follow  him.  Mad  with 


1796-1799]  319 

excitement,  they  sprang  forward  in  the  teeth  of  the  grape- 
shot,  crossed  the  bridge,  bayonetted  the  gunners  at  their 
guns,  and  scattered  the  sixteen  thousand  Austrians.  In 
this  battle  alone  forty-five  hundred  men  perished — twenty- 
five  hundred  Austrians  and  two  thousand  Frenchmen.  At 
the  siege  of  Mantua  the  Austrians  lost  thirty  thousand  men, 
ten  thousand  of  whom  were  killed.  Pretty  bloody  work ! 
But  this  was  only  the  beginning. 

Sometimes  Bonaparte  won  victories  at  less  cost.  One 
dark  night  an  Austrian  general  met  his  forces  at  a  place 
called  Lonato.  The  Austrian,  feeling  confident  that  he  was 
the  stronger,  summoned  the  French  general  to  surrender. 
Bonaparte  replied  that  he  gave  the  Austrians  just  eight 
minutes  to  lay  down  their  arms ;  and  they,  fancying  they 
had  run  up  against  the  whole  French  army,  did  so  at  once. 

After  having  made  peace  with  Austria  and  planted  the 
Cisalpine  Republic — as  he  called  northern  Italy — on  a  firm 
foundation,  Bonaparte  was  eager  to  get  home  to  Paris.  He 
had  been  twenty  months  away.  He  had  marched  so  many 
miles,  fought  so  many  battles,  and  borne  so  much  fatigue 
that  he  was  worn  out.  He  was  so  weak  that  he  could  not 
sit  on  horseback.  His  cheeks  were  hollow;  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  fire  in  his  eyes,  he  would  have  looked  like 
a  dying  man.  Before  leaving  Paris  he  had  married  Jo- 
sephine Beauharnais,  a  beautiful  widow  of  thirty-three, 
who  was  six  years  older  than  himself.  He  loved  her  pas- 
sionately. Just  before  leaving  Italy  he  wrote  to  her : 

"Soon  thy  husband  will  fold  thee  in  his  arms.  Adieu 
for  the  present,  adorable  Josephine.  Think  of  me  often. 
When  your  heart  grows  cold  toward  me,  you  will  be  very 
cruel,  very  unjust.  But  I  am  sure  you  will  always  be  faith- 
ful. A  thousand  and  a  thousand  kisses." 

Three  months  afterward  Bonaparte  was  in  France.  He 
had  a  splendid  reception.  All  Paris  turned  out  to  meet 
him.  The  directors,  who  for  some  queer  reason  wore  Ro- 
man togas,  welcomed  him  from  a  raised  dais,  and  all  round, 
on  seats  arranged  as  they  are  at  a  circus,  the  greatest  peo- 


320 


[1796-1799 


pie  in  France  sat  and  applauded.     Bonaparte  was  plainly 
dressed  and  was  modest  in  his  manner.     He  said, 

"I  bring  you  a  treaty  with  Austria  which  insures  the 
liberty,  prosperity,  and  glory  of  the  republic." 


THE   DIKECTOKY.       FHOM   A   PltlJST   Oi«'   TilK   TIME 

Then  he  sat  down,  while  the  sky  re-echoed  the  shouts  of 
the  people,  and  bands  played  triumphal  airs,  and  batteries 
of  artillery  fired  salutes.  He  was  so  shy  and  retiring,  so 
small  and  unobtrusive,  that  no  one  would  have  taken  him 
for  a  great  conqueror  who  had  just  won  eixt3r-seven  battles, 
subdued  a  whole  country,  and  taken  a  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  prisoners  and  six  hundred  heavy  guns. 

But  the  brain  of  this  shy  and  retiring  soldier  was  full  of 
great  projects.  He  wanted  to  conquer  Egypt.  He  said  he 
wanted  to  do  so  in  order  to  humble  England.  But  as  the 
English  did  not  own  Egypt,  and  as  it  was  no  manner  of 
consequence  to  them  who  did,  I  think  that  Bonaparte  was 
not  sincere,  and  that  his  real  object  was  to  acquire  glory 
for  himself.  He  had  read  that  Alexander  the  Great  and 
Caesar  had  won  glory  in  Egypt ;  he  want-ed  to  couple  his 


1796-1799]  321 

name  with  theirs.  So,  in  May,  1798,  he  set  sail  from  Tou- 
lon, with  a  large  army  and  a  fine  fleet,  picked  up  Malta  by 
the  way,  landed  at  Alexandria,  and  marched  up  to  Cairo. 
There  a  battle  was  fought  with  the  Egyptians,  and  the 
French  won.  Bonaparte  worked  his  men  up  to  enthusi- 
asm by  telling  them  that,  from  the  top  of  the  pyramids — 
which  they  could  see  from  the  battle-field — forty  centuries 
were  looking  down  upon  them. 

In  order  to  please  the  Egyptians,  Bonaparte  put  on  a 
Turkish  dress,  went  to  the  mosque  or  church,  seated  him- 
self, as  the  Turks  do,  cross-legged,  and  said  prayers  in  the 
Arabic  tongue,  rocking  his  body  to  and  fro,  as  the  follow- 
ers of  Mohammed  do. 

But  I  do  not  observe  that  the  Egyptians  were  much 
touched  by  his  conversion  ;  and  when  the  English,  under 
Nelson,  fell  upon  his  fleet  at  Aboukir  and  destroyed  it, 
they  were  more  suspicious  than  ever.  It  didn't  matter 
what  they  believed.  Bonaparte  held  Egypt  with  a  grip  of 
iron,  and  when  some  of  the  chiefs  annoyed  him  by  hang- 
ing round  his  camps  on  their  fleet  Arab  horses  and  killing 
Frenchmen,  he  sent  a  flying  squadron  to  punish  them,  and 
every  night  a  dozen  asses  were  driven  into  Cairo  with  sacks 
on  their  backs.  When  they  reached  the  market-place  the 
contents  of  the  sacks  were  dumped,  and  they  proved  to  be 
heads  of  Arab  horsemen.  Bonaparte  invaded  Palestine, 
and  beat  the  Turks  there  ;  he  took  no  rest  until  the  French 
were  masters  of  the  country  from  the  Holy  Land  to  the 
cataracts  of  the  Nile. 

You  will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  he  received  no  news 
from  France  for  a  whole  year.  The  Mediterranean  was 
patrolled  by  English  fleets,  and  it  was  only  by  pure  acci- 
dent that,  after  being  fifteen  months  in  Egypt,  Bonaparte 
heard  that  the  French  had  been  driven  out  of  Italy,  and 
that  the  greatest  confusion  reigned  in  Paris.  He  said  noth- 
ing to  his  officers,  but  took  ship,  and  landed  at  Frejus,  in 
France,  in  October,  1799. 

He  found  everything  in  frightful  disorder  at  Paris.    The 

21 


322  [1796-1799 

five  directors  were  quarrelling  among  themselves  and  were 
despised  by  the  people.  Bonaparte  called  them  to  task. 

"What  have  you  done  with  the  France  I  left  you?  I 
left  you  peace  ;  I  find  war.  I  left  you  victories ;  I  find 
defeats.  I  left  you  millions  ;  I  find  starvation.  What  have 
you  done  with  my  brothers  in  arms?  They  are  dead." 

Three  directors  were  cowed  and  resigned  ;  the  other  two 
Bonaparte  locked  up.  Then,  on  a  day  which  the  French 
always  remember  by  the  name  of  the  eighteenth  Brumaire, 
he  sent  a  company  of  grenadiers  with  fixed  bayonets  into 
the  hall  of  the  Assembty,  drove  the  members  out,  locked 
the  doors,  put  to  death  the  Republic  of  France,  and  re- 
placed it  by  a  one-man  government — the  man  being  Bona- 
parte. 

He  called  his  government  a  consulate,  there  being  three 
Consuls — he  the  first  and  Sieyes  and  Ducos  the  second  and 
third.  You  will  understand  that  the  second  and  third  Con- 
suls were  for  show,  and  that  the  First  Consul  was  the  gov- 
ernment. Bonaparte  said  he  had  been  compelled  to  make 
himself  Consul  by  the  intrigues  of  members  of  Assembly 
to  restore  the  monarchy,  and  by  the  endeavors  of  the  Eng- 
lish to  bribe  the  assemblymen  to  betray  their  country.  I 
dare  say  there  were  a  few  assemblymen  who  would  have 
liked  to  see  the  king  back ;  and  it  is  possible  that  Mr.  Pitt, 
who  hated  France  and  the  French  Republic,  may  have  giv- 
en a  few  pieces  of  gold  to  knaves  to  create  trouble.  But 
the  real  secret  was  that  neither  the  Directory  nor  the  As- 
sembly knew  enough  of  the  business  of  governing  to  hold 
France  well  in  hand  ;  and  that  by  their  side  there  stood  an 
ambitious  young  man,  who  not  only  knew  how  to  master 
France,  but  was  resolved  to  do  so. 


JETTFmOTT. 

a— *= 

THE   THREE   CONSULS.      FliOM  A   MEDAL 


CHAPTER  XLVII 


A.D.  1799-1804 

WHEN  Bonaparte  became  First  Consul  he  set  himself 
two  tasks — first  to  restore  order,  and  then  to  make  France 
the  first  power  in  Europe.  At  the  same  time  he  purposed 
to  become  the  absolute  ruler  of  France.  It  was  to  be  great 
and  orderly,  but  it  was  not  to  be  trusted  with  freedom. 
Whether  or  no  he  believed  in  his  heart  the  French  were 
not  fit  to  be  free,  he  resolved  to  be  on  the  safe  side  and  to 
keep  in  his  own  hands  supreme  power  in  great  things  and 
small.  He  purposed  to  do  a  good  and  useful  thing,  and 
to  do  it  in  such  a  way  that  it  should  turn  to  his  personal 
advantage. 

There  was  no  money  in  the  treasury,  and  the  Directory 
had  been  unable  to  raise  any.  Bonaparte  levied  wise  taxes, 
which  were  cheerfully  paid.  He  put  the  government  credit 


324  [1Y99-1804 

on  a  sound  basis  and  started  up  trade  and  industry.  He 
taught  people  to  throw  the  wretched  old  assignats  into 
the  fire  and  to  do  business  with  real  money.  He  reformed 
and  boiled  down  the  laws  into  one  code,  which  is  in  force 
to-day  and  has  been  copied  in  a  dozen  countries — among 
others,  in  our  own  State  of  Louisiana.  He  kept  as  good 
order  in  the  French  cities  as  he  had  in  his  camps;  if  any 
one,  Jacobin  or  other,  disturbed  the  peace,  the  police  quickly 
laid  him  by  the  heels  and  taught  him  a  lesson.  He  found- 
ed a  number  of  colleges,  which  are  flourishing  to-day.  He 
reopened  the  churches  and  paid  the  priests  for  preaching 
and  celebrating  mass.  You  must  keep  these  good  works  in 
mind  when  you  blame  him,  as  you  cannot  help  doing,  for 
making  himself  a  military  despot. 

To  give  France  time  to  recover  after  ten  years  of  war- 
fare, he  made  peace  with  the  rest  of  the  world.  Spain, 
Portugal,  the  pope,  Naples,  Turkey,  Bavaria,  Russia,  were 
quite  willing  to  sign  treaties  of  peace.  Austria  hung  back 
until  Bonaparte  beat  her  armies  terribly  at  Marengo,  and 
Moreau  did  the  same  thing  at  Hohenlinden — then  she  laid 
down  her  arms ;  and  last  of  all  England  agreed  to  live  in 
friendship  with  her  old  enemy. 

Then  the  First  Consul  tried  to  reform  the  morals  of  the 
French,  which  needed  mending.  You  can  easily  understand 
that,  under  the  example  of  the  Regent  Orleans  and  Louis 
the  Fifteenth,  men  and  women  had  learned  to  lead  bad 
lives.  Things  got  worse  during  the  dreadful  confusion  of 
the  early  years  of  the  Revolution,  when  there  were  no  more 
marriages,  and  the  leading  men  boasted  that  they  respected 
nothing.  Bonaparte  now  set  an  example  of  leading  a  clean 
life.  He  and  his  wife  lived  at  the  Tuileries  when  they  were 
in  town,  and  at  Malmaison  when  they  went  to  the  country. 

Josephine,  her  daughter,  and  their  guests  and  friends 
rose  when  they  pleased.  They  breakfasted  together  at 
eleven,  and  spent  the  afternoon  in  chat,  reading,  or  driving. 
Bonaparte  got  up  at  five  or  six,  went  at  once  into  his  office, 
and  spent  the  day  there — when  there  was  no  review — re- 


1799-1804]  325 

ceiving  visits,  reading  despatches,  and  giving  directions  to 
his  ministers  and  officers.  At  six  in  the  afternoon  he 
dined  with  his  family,  who  had  not  seen  him  till  then  ;  the 
evening  they  spent  together.  He  gave  a  dinner-party  every 
ten  days,  to  which  two  hundred  people  were  invited,  and 
he  was  careful  to  invite  no  one  of  bad  reputation.  When 
he  took  a  holiday  he  made  up  a  small  party,  consisting  of 
his  wife,  her  daughter  Hortense,  and  a  few  of  his  favorite 
officers  and  their  wives.  The  grand  ladies  of  the  old  no- 
bility would  not  call  on  Josephine,  and  kept  away  from 
the  Tuileries.  In  the  country  he  amused  himself  by  play- 
ing boys'  games  ;  at  the  Tuileries  he  played  chess  or  cards, 
but  never  for  money. 

He  was  faithful  to  his  old  soldiers,  and  by  little  acts  of 
kindness  he  won  their  hearts.  Recognizing  a  drummer- 
boy  at  a  review,  he  asked, 

"  Was  it  you  who  played  the  drum  at  Zurich  ?" 
. "  Yes,  General,"  said  the  boy. 

"  And  was  it  you  who  saved  your  commander's  life  at 
the  Weser  ?" 

"  Yes,  General,"  answered  the  boy,  flushing. 

"  Then,"  said  the  First  Consul,  "  the  country  owes  you  a 
debt.  I  make  you  a  sergeant." 

Another  day,  as  he  was  mounting  his  horse,  a  young 
man  fell  at  his  feet  and  handed  him  a  paper.  He  was 
ghastly  pale  and  trembled.  The  First  Consul  looked  cu- 
riously at  him  and  read  his  paper.  Then,  turning  to  the 
youth,  he  said  gently, 

"You  will  tell  your  mother  that  she  can  draw  a  pension 
from  the  government  as  long  as  she  lives ;  and  you,  if  you 
choose,  can  enter  my  army  as  an  officer." 

The  boy  was  the  son  of  poor  General  Delaunay,  who  was 
Governor  of  the  Bastile  when  it  was  taken;  as  you  remem- 
ber, he  had  been  murdered  by  the  mob. 

But  the  brood  of  assassins  of  whom  I  have  been  sorry 
to  tell  you  so  much  was  not  extinct.  One  night,  as  the 
First  Consul  was  leaving  the  opera,  an  attempt  was  made 


326  [1799-1804 

to  stab  him.  On  another  occasion  a  barrel  full  of  bombs 
was  set  on  a  cart,  and  drawn  by  an  old  horse  toward  the 
opera  which  Bonaparte  was  to  attend.  The  intention  was 
to  explode  the  bombs  as  the  First  Consul  passed.  But  the 
old  horse  got  in  the  way  of  the  escort.  One  of  the  troop- 
ers struck  it  a  blow  with  the  flat  of  his  sabre,  and  it  shied 
and  put  the  machinery  out  of  order;  by  the  time  this  was 
rearranged  the  First  Consul  had  passed,  and  the  explosion 
killed  no  one  but  a  few  bystanders,  among  others  a  poor 
woman  who  kept  a  store  and  had  run  to  her  door  to  see 
the  consul  pass. 

A  more  serious  attempt  was  made  by  Pichegru,  Cadou- 
dal,  and  others,  who,  I  am  afraid,  were  set  on  by  noble  Em- 
igrants. I  suspect  that  General  Moreau,  who  was  so  gallant 
a  soldier  that  he  should  have  shrunk  from  such  a  plot,  and 
several  members  of  high  families  were  more  or  less  con- 
cerned in  it.  The  police  intercepted  their  letters  and  caught 
one  of  the  conspirators,  who  betrayed  the  others.  Moreau 
was  exiled  to  this  country.  Pichegru  was  put  in  prison,  and 
was  found  one  morning  dead  in  his  cell,  with  marks  show- 
ing that  he  had  been  strangled.  Cadoudal  was  guillotined. 

Bonaparte  was  convinced  that  the  Duke  of  Enghien,  of 
the  great  house  of  Conde,  who  was  an  Emigrant,  was  in  the 
plot.  He  seized  him,  in  violation  of  law,  on  the  territory 
of  Baden  and  had  him  conveyed  to  Vincennes  ;  in  that 
fortress  he  was  put  on  his  trial  at  two  in  the  morning  of 
the  day  after  his  arrival.  He  was  sentenced  to  death. 
Without  an  hour's  delay  he  was  led  by  General  Savary  to 
the  castle  moat,  where  a  platoon  of  gendarmes  were  post- 
ed and  a  grave  had  just  been  dug.  He  stood  erect  and 
intrepid,  his  back  against  the  wall  of  the  fortress,  with  a 
lantern  on  his  breast  to  guide  the  soldiers'  aim  in  that 
gloomy  moat,  which  was  like  a  still  cavern  in  the  sombre 
night.  When  his  sentence  had  been  read,  he  begged  an 
officer  to  cut  off  a  lock  of  his  hair  and  send  it  to  his  wife. 
Then  the  command,  "  Fire  !"  and  the  brave  young  man 
fell  forward  on  his  face, 


1799-1804] 


327 


There  was  no  reason  why  England  and  France  should 
not  have  remained  at  peace,  except  that  the  two  peoples 
had  been  educated  to  hate  each  other  by  their  govern- 
ments. Bonaparte  felt  that  so  long  as  England  flourished 
there  would  always  be  one  nation  to  oppose  his  dream  of 
supreme  power  in  Europe  ;  the  English  regent  and  the 
English  nobility  felt  that  if  their  people  had  no  foreign 
foe  to  fight  they  would  want  to  reduce  the  power  of  the 
throne  and  the  privileges  of  the  nobility.  A  pretext  for 
more  fighting  having  been  found,  the  war  broke  out  in  the 
old  way.  Bonaparte  was  master  not  only  of  France,  but 
also  of  all  Belgium,  Holland,  a  slice  of  Germany,  and  all 
Italy  north  of  Naples ;  Spain  was  his  ally ;  the  English 
had  with  them  Russia,  Austria,  Naples,  and  Sweden.  The 
whole  continent  was  in  the  war  on  one  side  or  the  other. 

Before  beginning  it  in  earnest  Bonaparte  changed  his 
title.  Some  time  before  he  had  been  made  consul  for  life. 
He  now  declared  he  would  be  Emperor  of  France  and 
King  of  Italy,  and  the  Senate — as  the  council  of  ancients 


EXECUTION    OF   THE   DUKE   OF   ENGIIIEN 


328 

was  called  —  and  the  Assembly  swiftly  answered  so  he 
should.  The  pope  was  brought  from  Italy  to  crown  him. 

It  was  done  in  the  old  church  of  Notre  Dame.  The 
church  was  splendidly  draped  in  velvet,  with  B's  all  over  it. 
The  pope  sat  on  a  throne,  with  sixty  bishops,  as  many 
generals,  and  judges,  senators,  assemblymen,  and  foreign 
ministers  all  around  him.  Bonaparte  approached,  with 
his  marshals  escorting  him,  and  knelt  at  the  altar.  At  a 
signal  the  pope  took  a  phial  of  sacred  oil  and  anointed 
the  new  emperor  on  the  forehead,  on  the  arms,  and  on  the 
hands  ;  he  girded  the  sword  of  state  round  his  waist  and 
placed  the  sceptre  in  his  hand.  The  emperor,  who  had 
appeared  to  be  uneasy  lest  the  sacred  oil  should  drip  on 
his  imperial  mantle,  seizing  the  crown,  placed  it  on  his 
head  without  stopping  to  observe  a  small  stone  which  just 
then  dropped  from  the  ceiling  on  his  shoulder,  and  would 
have  been  regarded  as  an  evil  omen  by  a  Roman  ;  then, 
taking  another  crown,  he  placed  it  on  the  head  of  Jose- 
phine, who  knelt  before  him  and  burst  out  crying.  The 
pope  blessed  them  both,  and  the  whole  audience  broke  out 
with  the  cry,  "  Long  live  the  emperor !"  while  cannon  out- 
side thundered  deafening  salutes. 

Six  months  afterward  he  was  again  crowned,  at  Milan 
in  Italy.  This  time  the  crown  which  he  set  on  his  head 
was  an  old  iron  crown,  which  was  said  to  have  been  used 
by  the  emperors  of  the  ancient  empire  of  the  West ;  all 
the  great  church  dignitaries  and  civil  officers  of  Italy, 
with  a  swarm  of  French  officers  and  foreign  ministers, 
watched  the  ceremony.  When  it  was  over  Napoleon 
touched  the  crown  and  said  in  Italian,  "  God  has  given  it 
to  me  ;  let  him  beware  who  touches  it." 

You  may  perhaps  think  that  this  soldier,  who  made  him- 
self emperor  by  war,  was  impious  in  imputing  his  usurpa- 
tions to  God.  He  had  two  crowns  set  on  his  head — one  in 
Paris  and  one  in  Milan  ;  whoever  put  them  on,  you  will 
not  find  they  stuck  there  when  the  time  came  for  them  to 
fall  off. 


NAPOLEON  I 


CHAPTER   XLVIII 

THE   EMPEROR   NAPOLEON 

A.D.  1804-1807 

IN  choosing  which  of  his  foes  to  attack  first  Napoleon 
selected  England,  because  it  was  the  richest  among  his 
enemies  and  had  the  smallest  army.  He  collected  his 
troops  on  the  coast  of  the  Channel,  round  the  town  of 
Boulogne.  There  were  so  many  of  them  that  he  is  said  to 
have  placed  one  hundred  thousand  in  line  at  one  review. 


THE   COAST   OF  BOULOGNE 


332  [1804-1807 

There  is  no  doubt  that  he  had  a  large  force  of  infantry, 
cavalry,  and  gunners,  all  veteran  soldiers,  and  some  three 
thousand  broad  boats  to  ferry  them  over  to  England. 
You  know  that  there  were  no  steam-boats  in  those  days ; 
Napoleon's  boats  were  sail-boats,  and  they  could  not  de- 
fend themselves  against  frigates.  To  cross  the  Channel  in 
safety  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  get  control  of  it,  and 
hold  control  at  least  for  one  whole  day.  To  accomplish 
this  he  ordered  his  naval  captains  to  entice  as  many  Brit- 
ish ships  as  they  could  away  from  the  coast  of  England  ; 
and  he  directed  his  best  admiral,  Villeneuve,  to  attack  and 
beat  and  sink  the  remainder. 

Unluckily  for  him  the  English  fleet  was  commanded  by 
an  exceedingly  skilful  and  daring  sailor,  whose  name  was 
Nelson.  He  saw  through  Napoleon's  plans,  left  ships  enough 
near  home  to  hold  the  Channel,  and  with  the  rest  went  in 
sharp  pursuit  of  the  French  fleet.  One  day,  near  a  point 
on  the  Spanish  coast  called  Trafalgar,  he  came  up  with  it, 
cut  it  in  two,  and  sank  and  battered  out  of  shape  so  many 
French  ships  that  at  the  end  of  the  fight  it  was  no  good 
for  anything.  So  the  English  kept  their  mastery  of  the 
Channel,  and  Napoleon  did  not  dare  to  put  to  sea  with  his 
three  thousand  boats. 

While  he  was  grinding  his  teeth  with  rage  news  came  that 
the  Austrian  army,  eighty  thousand  strong,  had  marched 
from  Vienna  to  invade  France,  and  that  a  hundred  thou- 
sand Russians  were  only  two  or  three  marches  behind 
them.  Like  lightning  he  turned  his  back  to  England  and 
made  for  the  new  foes.  He  seized  every  carriage  and  every 
horse  in  northern  France  ;  and  the  troops,  in  coaches,  wag- 
ons, carriages,  trucks,  phaetons,  hay -carts,  and  on  horse- 
back, were  hurried  to  the  valley  of  the  Danube,  before  the 
slow,  lumbering  Austrians  imagined  they  had  left  the  Chan- 
nel. Napoleon  seemed  to  need  neither  sleep  nor  rest.  He 
was  everywhere  at  once.  So  swiftly  did  he  move  that  he 
wrapped  his  men  round  the  first  Austrian  army  corps  of 
thirty  thousand  men  before  they  knew  he  was  near  and 


1804-1807]  333 

made  them  all  prisoners  ;  then  he  shut  up  the  next  army 
corps  of  thirty-six  thousand  men  in  Ulm  and,  by  threaten- 
ing to  open  fire,  forced  them  to  surrender  in  order  to  save 
their  lives.  In  a  month  he  made  an  end  of  the  Austrian 
army  without  firing  a  shot. 

Another  army  rose  up  at  Vienna  and  joined  the  advance 
corps  of  the  Russians.  He  marched  to  meet  them  at  a  lit- 
tle Moravian  village  called  Austerlitz.  They  were  more 
numerous  than  the  French,  but  they  had  no  general  who 
knew  his  business.  The  Emperor  of  Russia  was  in  com- 
mand, and  he  placed  his  men  so  that  Napoleon  cut  his  army 
in  two — as  Nelson  had  done  to  Villeneuve's  fleet — and  over- 
came each  half  separately.  It  was  the  2d  of  December 
and  bitter  winter  weather.  The  ground  was  covered  with 
snow  and  ice.  In  retreading,  the  Russians  crossed  some 
frozen  ponds.  Napoleon  fired  his  big  guns  in  the  air  so 
that  the  balls  fell  on  the  ice  and  broke  it,  and  thousands  of 
poor  soldiers,  overloaded  with  their  guns  and  their  knap- 
sacks, were  drowned. 

This  was  enough  for  the  Russians  this  time.  Those  who 
survived  the  battle  hurried  home  as  fast  as  they  could. 
And  with  Francis  of  Austria,  whom  he  received  at  an  open 
bivouac,  protected  from  the  wind  by  an  old  mill-shed,  Na- 
poleon made  peace,  on  condition  of  getting  a  large  slice  of 
territory  and  a  great  deal  of  money. 

There  is  a  story — I  hope  it  is  true — that  on  his  return 
to  Vienna  he  met  a  convoy  of  wounded  Anstrians,  imme- 
diately alighted  from  his  carriage,  took  off  his  hat,  and 
called  to  his  officers, 

"  Honor  the  brave !" 

He  was  not  always  so  thoughtful  for  the  wounded  and 
the  dying. 

What  was  passing  in  his  mind  you  may  perhaps  guess 
from  his  private  letters  to  the  Empress  Josephine.  He 
wrote  to  her  after  Austerlitz  : 

"I  have  beaten  the  Russian  and  Austrian  armies  com- 
manded by  the  two  emperors.  I  am  a  little  fatigued.  I 


334  [1804-1807 

have  slept  eight  days  in  the  open  air,  though  the  nights 
are  severely  cold.  To-night  I  shall  get  two  or  three  hours' 
sleep  in  a  castle.  Adieu,  my  love.  I  am  pretty  well  and 
eager  to  kiss  you.  Not  one  letter  from  you  since  you  left 
Strasburg." 

He  had  no  sooner  got  back  to  Paris  than  he  showed 
what  his  real  purpose  was  in  carrying  on  the  wars  to  which 
he  had  been  invited  by  the  kings  of  Europe.  Some  years  be- 
fore, you  remember,  France  had  helped  to  establish  a  repub- 
lic in  Holland  ;  this  Napoleon  now  overthrew,  and  planted 
in  its  place  a  monarchy  with  his  brother  as  king.  Louis 
was  a  silent,  morose  man,  whom  the  Dutch  hated. 

Then  he  made  his  wife's  son,  Eugene  Beauharnais,  vice- 
roy of  northern  Italy,  and,  to  round  out  his  dominions,  he 
took  Venice  from  Austria  and  put  it  under  Eugene.  . 

Finally  he  sent  an  army  to  Naples  to  drive  out  the  worth- 
less king  who  reigned  there.  He  was  a  miserable  creature, 
who  was  always  making  treaties  and  breaking  them,  and  I 
am  not  sorry  he  was  upset.  But  it  startled  Europe  when 
Napoleon  made  his  brother  Joseph  King  of  Naples  in  his 
stead.  People  began  to  say  that  the  Bonaparte  family 
were  covering  a  good  deal  of  ground— especially  when 
another  of  them,  Jerome,  was  made  King  of  Westphalia. 

Prussia  became  so  uneasy  that  she  agreed  to  join  the 
Russians  in  another  effort  to  put  down  the  "  Corsican  up- 
start," as  Napoleon  was  called.  He  met  their  armies  at  a 
place  called  Jena,  and  the  Prussians  lost  12,000  men  killed 
and  wounded,  15,000  prisoners,  and  1200  cannon.  This 
was  ten  months  after  the  battle  of  Austerlitz,  and  was  quite 
enough  for  the  Prussians.  Those  of  them  who  could  made 
the  best  of  their  way  home.  The  King  of  Prussia  ran  away, 
and  Napoleon  entered  Berlin  in  October,  1806. 

Then  he  turned  on  the  Russians  and  fought  a  number 
of  battles  with  them  in  the  spring  of  1807,  at  Eylau,  Fried- 
land,  and  other  places,  and  his  good  fortune  was  such  that 
he  won  all  the  battles,  and  at  each  one  Russia  lost  men 
and  guns  and  glory  which  she  could  not  spare.  At  last 


1804-1807]  335 

the  Emperor  Alexander  got  tired  of  this  business  and  sent 
to  ^Napoleon  to  see  if  they  could  not  arrange  a  peace. 

The  two  emperors  met  on  a  big  raft,  anchored  exactly 
in  the  middle  of  the  river  Niemen,  near  the  little  town  of 
Tilsit.  On  the  raft  a  small  pavilion  had  been  built  with  a 
table  and  chairs  and  maps  for  the  two  emperors.  The  offi- 
cers of  their  suites  stood  outside  or  rowed  about  in  their 
boats.  To  decorate  the  pavilion  the  shops  of  Tilsit  had 
been  stripped  of  all  their  fine  silks  and  cloths.  Here  the 
two  monarchs,  with  the  King  of  Prussia,  met  day  after  day 
from  the  25th  of  June  to  the  7th  of  July,  1807,  and  they 
finally  agreed  on  a  treaty,  by  which  Russia  got  nothing, 
Prussia  lost  half  her  subjects  and  nearly  one  half  of  her 
territory,  and  Napoleon  got  everything  that  he  wanted. 
You  will  probably  think  that  he  was  as  skilful  at  making 
treaties  as  he  was  at  fighting  battles. 

The  Emperor  of  Russia  dined  with  him  every  day,  and 
you  may  be  sure  that  Napoleon  did  not  spare  expense  to 
give  him  fine  dinners  and  rich  wines.  The  Russian  did 
not  see  till  long  afterward  how  he  had  been  hoodwinked ; 
but  the  poor  stupid  King  of  Prussia  saw  plainly  enough 
what  was  to  be  his  fate,  and  he  sent  for  his  wife,  Louise 
of  Prussia,  who  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Europe, 
to  try  to  get  better  terms  from  Napoleon.  The  emperor 
was  struck  with  her  marvellous  beauty  and  could  not  take 
his  eyes  off  her ;  he  told  her  she  was  the  queen  of  loveli- 
ness ;  but  when  she  tried  to  get  him  to  be  more  forbearing 
with  Prussia,  his  face  grew  hard  as  stone,  and  he  said 
"  No "  in  a  way  which  showed  that  he  meant  it. 

He  had  made  himself  ruler  of  France,  Italy,  Belgium, 
Holland,  and  nearly  half  of  Germany ;  and  he  did  not  pro- 
pose to  let  a  pretty  woman  talk  him  out  of  a  foot  of  land. 

I  need  not  tell  you  that  this  great  empire  had  not  been 
won  without  hard  fighting  and  much  hardship.  You  have 
heard  of  the  battles ;  now  hear  how  Napoleon  lived  during 
these  campaigns.  He  wrote  to  his  brother  Joseph, 

*' The  officers  of  my  staff  have  not  undressed  for  two 


336  [1804-1807 

months,  and  some  not  for  four  months.  I  myself  have  not 
had  my  boots  off  for  a  fortnight.  We  live  in  snow  and 
mud,  without  wine  or  brandy  or  bread,  on  meat  and  pota- 
toes, making  long  marches  and  counter-marches  without 
ceasing.  Our  wounded  have  to  be  carried  a  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  in  sleighs,  through  the  bitter  cold,  before  they 
reach  a  hospital." 

But  neither  the  fatigues  of  his  marches  nor  the  priva- 
tions he  endured  were  enough  to  occupy  his  mind.  When 
he  was  fighting  battle  after  battle  he  was  constantly  plan- 
ning some  new  thing  for  Paris.  He  laid  down  new  rules 
for  the  collection  of  taxes.  He  gave  points  for  articles  in 
the  newspapers.  He  sent  directions  to  Paris  for  the  manu- 
facture of  boots  and  shoes,  saddles  and  baggage- wagons. 
He  directed  the  theatres  what  pieces  to  play  and  what 
actors  and  actresses  they  should  engage.  He  read  all  the 
principal  books  and  sent  money  to  the  authors  of  good 
ones.  He  started  a  number  of  schools  and  directed  what 
they  should  teach.  One  of  his  schools  was  for  the  daugh- 
ters of  soldiers  killed  in  the  service.  About  this  one  he 
was  very  particular.  He  wrote  : 

"  Women  have  weak  minds,  therefore  they  should  be 
taught  religion.  I  want  the  pupils  of  this  school  to  be  vir- 
tuous rather  than  agreeable.  They  should  learn  a  little 
medicine,  dancing  (but  not  ballet-dancing),  reading,  writ- 
ing, ciphering,  and  needle -work.  They  must  make  their 
own  chemises,  stockings,  dresses,  and  caps,  and  also  know 
how  to  make  clothes  for  their  children  when  they  come  to 
have  any." 


MEDAL  OF  NAPOLEON,  KING  OF  ITALY 


CHAPTER  XLIX 
FRANCE   UNDER  NAPOLEON 
A.D.    1807-1809 

• 

AFTER  the  treaty  of  Tilsit,  Napoleon  soon  found  himself 
back  in  France  once  more,  with  no  wars  to  carry  on  for 
the  moment,  for  the  French  and  the  English  could  not  get 
at  each  other.  He  then  bent  his  whole  mind  to  improving 
the  condition  of  Paris  and  France ;  when  you  see  how  well 
he  succeeded  you  will  feel  sorry  that  he  wasted  so  much 
genius  in  fighting  and  angering  foreigners  by  setting  his 
relations  over  them  as  kings.  France  had  never  been  as 
prosperous  nor  the  people  as  well  off  as  he  made  them. 

He  put  into  his  schemes  of  public  improvement  the 
same  energy  that  he  had  put  into  his  campaigns.  Under 
his  orders  ten  canals  were  dug  to  connect  rivers.  He  cut 
roads  over  the  Alps  and  through  Brittany.  He  opened 
seaports  and  built  wharves.  He  gave  splendid  rewards  to 
silk  weavers,  woollen  spinners,  and  makers  of  beet-sugar. 
He  established  all  manner  of  schools — art,  military,  and 
naval  schools,  ten  law  schools,  six  schools  of  medicine, 
twenty-nine  colleges,  and  common  schools  in  every  town. 
He  managed  his  money-affairs  so  well  that  there  was  al- 
ways plenty  of  money  in  the  treasury,  though  people  did 
not  complain  of  being  overtaxed  ;  there  was  always  work 
22 


338  [1807-1809 

for  every  one  who  wanted  work,  and  no  boy  grew  up  in 
ignorance  if  he  cared  to  learn.  You  will  not  be  surprised 
to  hear  that  the  French  were  contented  ;  and,  though  good 
men  deplored  the  want  of  freedom,  the  masses  of  the  peo- 
ple thought  the  empire  a  fine  thing. 

He  made  Paris  more  splendid  than  ever.  He  built  the 
Madeleine,  and  the  Vendome  column  out  of  cannon  taken 
from  the  Austrians  and  Russians  (it  was  pulled  down  by 
the  Commune  in  1870,  but  has  since  been  rebuilt) ;  he  fin- 
ished the  Louvre  and  the  Pantheon ;  he  built  the  Arch  of 
Triumph  and  the  Arch  of  the  Stai\  He  supplied  Paris  with 
water,  put  the  streets  into  good  repair,  and  established  a 
police  force  which  made  it  safe  for  every  one  to  go  where 
he  would  at  any  time  of  night.  He  put  a  stop  to  street 
begging  and  established  poor-houses  all  over  France.  His 
system  of  laws  was  the  Jbest  in  Europe,  and  he  saw  to  it 
that  his  laws  were  obeyed. 

Notwithstanding  these  services  to  France  the  members 
of  the  old  nobility,  who  had  emigrated  when  the  republic 
was  declared,  and  who  had  since  come  creeping  back  to 
pick  up  some  remnant  of  their  old  estates,  would  not  have 
anything  to  say  to  him.  They  kept  away  from  the  court, 
and  their  wives  and  daughters  would  not  call  on  the  em- 
press. Napoleon  laughed  at  them  and  their  titles  ;  and, 
partly  to  spite  them  and  partly  to  reward  his  old  soldiers, 
he  began  to  create  dukes  very  fast  indeed.  Almost  every 
general  who  had  done  good  service  in  the  wars  was  made 
a  duke  or  a  prince,  or  at  least  a  marshal  of  France,  and 
had  a  fat  salary  given  him  to  enable  him  to  sustain  his 
rank. 

These  changes  of  titles  were  embarrassing.  A  man  who 
had  been  a  marquis  under  Louis  the  Sixteenth  became  a 
plain  citizen  under  the  republic ;  now  any  one  who  hap- 
pened to  distinguish  himself  in  the  army  ran  risk  of  being 
made  a  duke.  Most  of  the  new  dukes  were  of  humble 
birth  and  had  won  their  titles  by  gallant  deeds  in  war 
under  Napoleon's  eye. 


1807-1809]  341 

All  these  people  had  to  dress  splendidly  in  order  to  en- 
courage industry.  The  court  dress  for  men  was  a  coat  of 
red  watered  silk  embroidered  in  gold  ;  the  embroidery  was 
in  imitation  of  branches  of  olive,  oak,  and  laurel.  They 
wore  black  cravats  and  boots  coming  up  to  the  knee.  The 
ladies  wore  round  their  necks  tulle  ruffs,  with  gold  or 
silver  points.  The  dress  was  embroidered  in  gold,  but  no 
one  but  a  princess  could  wear  embroidery  all  over  her 
dress;  on  ordinary  ladies'  dresses  the  embroidery  was  lim- 
ited to  four  inches  at  the  bottom  of  the  skirt.  On  com- 
mon occasions  ladies  wore  dresses  of  cambric  and  muslin, 
which  were  then  very  expensive ;  white  cambrics  were  not 
made  in  France,  but  were  smuggled  from  England,  and 
the  emperor  was  angry  when  he  saw  one  of  the  ladies  of 
his  court  dressed  in  them.  Much  time  was  spent  by  ladies 
in  dressing  their  hair :  on  the  day  of  the  coronation  some 
ladies  had  their  hair  dressed  at  two  in  the  morning,  and  sat 
in  their  chairs  until  the  ceremony  began  at  nine.  The  court 
ladies  wore  splendid  diamonds,  and  with  these  it  was  the 
fashion  to  dress  in  black  or  dark-colored  velvet.  When 
Napoleon's  sister,  the  Princess  Borghese,  was  presented  at 
court  after  her  marriage,  her  head,  her  neck,  her  ears,  and 
arms  were  loaded  with  diamonds. 

As  the  English  had  command  of  the  sea  France  could 
get  few  goods  from  foreign  countries.  Napoleon  told  the 
ladies  to  drink  Swiss  tea  instead  of  tea  from  China,  and 
French  chicory  instead  of  coffee  from  Java  or  Brazil.  He 
paid  so  much  attention  to  beet-sugar  that  to  this  day  the 
French  use  more  of  it  than  they  do  of  cane-sugar. 

He  was  very  friendly  with  the  clergy  and  saw  to  it  that 
they  were  not  molested.  But  when  a  priest  was  intolerant 
he  had  no  pity  for  him.  A  ballet-dancer  happening  to  die, 
the  priest  of  her  parish  refused  to  give  her  Christian  burial. 
A  couple  of  days  afterward  Napoleon  put  in  his  news- 
paper the  following  little  notice,  which  he  wrote  with  his 
own  hand, 

"  Th,  e  curate  of  St;.  Roch,  in  temporary  forgetf ulness  of 


342  [1807-1809 

reason,  has  refused  to  pray  for  Mademoiselle  Chameroy, 
and  to  admit  her  remains  within  the  church.  The  Arch- 
bishop of  Paris  has  suspended  the  cure  of  St.  Roch  for 
three  months,  to  remind  him  that  Jesus  Christ  commands 
us  to  pray  even  for  our  enemies,  and  to  teach  him  that 
superstitious  practices,  begotten  in  times  of  ignorance,  or 
created  by  overheated  zealots,  degrade  religion  by  their 
foolery." 

When  his  work  was  over  the  emperor  was  always  ready 
for  a  frolic.  He  went  to  balls,  parties,  and  masquerades, 
and  loved  to  intrigue  the  guests.  lie  used  to  dress  up 
some  one  in  domino  and  mask,  and  give  out  that  this  was 
the  emperor.  His  double  used  to  go  through  the  rooms, 
copying  the  emperor's  walk  and  manners,  and  the  real 
emperor  would  take  delight  in  treating  him  with  a  famil- 
iarity which  shocked  the  guests.  For  Napoleon  was  a 
stickler  for  dignity.  No  one  ever  joked  with  him.  When 
he  entered  a  room,  every  one  rose,  and  no  one,  not  even 
ladies,  could  sit  down  in  his  presence.  He  was  playful 
himself,  and  was  fond  of  pinching  the  ears  and  noses  of 
the  ladies  he  liked ;  but  no  one  could  venture  to  be  playful 
in  return. 

I  am  sorry  to  add  that  he  was  cruel  to  those  who  vent- 
ured to  criticise  his  actions.  Madame  de  Stael,  who,  I 
think,  was  rather  a  tiresome  person,  found  some  fault  with 
him  ;  upon  which  he  exiled  her  from  France  and  kept  her 
in  exile  for  ten  years.  She  had  a  friend,  Madame  Re- 
cam  ier,  who  called  to  see  her  before  she  left.  For  this 
Madame  Recamier  was  also  sent  into  exile,  though  she  was 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  France,  and  had  been  the  idol 
of  Paris  in  the  days  of  the  republic.  For  the  benefit  of 
men  who  talked  so  as  to  give  him  uneasiness,  Napoleon  re- 
vived the  old  system  of  the  Bastile,  and  locked  them  up 
for  long  periods  of  time  without  giving  them  a  trial.  He 
was  the  most  suspicious  person  in  France.  He  kept  swarms 
of  police  spying  on  people,  and  then,  fancying  that  he  \v:is 
not  being  faithfully  served,  he  set  others  to  spy  on  the  spies. 


1807-1809]  343 

These  wretches,  in  order  to  earn  their  pay,  made  a  practice 
of  revealing  to  the  emperor  plots  which  they  made  up ;  he 
was  thus  kept  in  constant  alarm. 

An  enormous  athlete,  armed  to  the  teeth,  slept  across 
the  door  of  his  bedroom,  and  he  would  rarely  eat  anything 
that  had  not  been  cooked  in  his  own  kitchen.  On  one  oc- 
casion, when  he  accepted  an  invitation  to  dinner,  he  sud- 
denly called  his  body-servant  as  the  soup  was  being  served, 
and  bade  him  fetch  a  loaf  of  white  bread  and  a  bottle  of 
wine  ;  he  would  touch  nothing  else. 

With  all  his  common -sense  he  was  superstitious,  and 
used  to  consult  fortune-tellers.  He  believed  in  destiny. 
At  a  battle  he  saw  a  soldier  duck  his  head  as  a  round  shot 
came  flying  that  way. 

"  My  friend,"  said  Napoleon,  "  you  are  putting  yourself 
to  needless  trouble.  If  that  shot  is  not  intended  for  you, 
you  may  just  as  well  stand  up  straight.  If  it  is  destined 
for  you,  it  will  find  you  out  though  you  should  bury  your- 
self a  hundred  feet  below  the  surface  of  the  earth." 

Though  he  had  been  constantly  under  fire  throughout 
his  wars,  Napoleon  had  never  been  hit  until  the  skirmish 
of  Ratisbon,  some  time  after  the  battle  of  Austerlitz. 
There  a  spent  ball  struck  his  heel  and  flattened  itself 
against  the  boot.  If  it  had  struck  four  feet  higher,  the 
emperor's  career  might  have  ended  then  and  there.  The 
accident  impressed  him  painfully.  He  said  that  his  star 
must  be  setting. 


CHAPTER  L 

JOSEPHINE 
A.D.  1809-1810 

NAPOLEON  was  in  the  middle  of  his  work  in  France, 
when,  once  more,  war  broke  out  between  France  and  Aus- 
tria. He  had  to  call  out  his  old  soldiers  again,  tear  down 
the  Danube  valley,  and  fight  battle  after  battle  with  the 
Austrians,  until  he  finally  overcame  them  at  a  place  called 
Wagram.  He  entered  Vienna,  pulled  down  its  walls,  and 
once  more  made  peace.  But  he  then  saw  plainly  enough 
that  the  kings  intended  to  give  him  no  peace,  partly  be- 
cause he  was  not  of  them,  but  was  a  mere  man  of  the 
people,  and  partly  because  they  saw  there  were  no  bounds 
to  his  greed  for  power.  There  was  one  way  in  which  he 
might  get  them  to  accept  him  as  one  of  themselves — that 
was  by  marrying  into  a  royal  family  ;  then,  perhaps,  he 
thought  they  might  bear  with  him. 

He  had  a  wife  already,  as  you  know — a  loving  and  af- 
fectionate wife — the  Empress  Josephine,  who  was  then 
forty-six  years  old.  She  had  two  children  by  her  first 
husband,  General  Beauharnais  ;  none  by  Napoleon.  She 
had  been  by  turns  happy  and  miserable  as  Napoleon's 
wife.  He  was  sometimes  loving ;  then  he  neglected  her 
for  some  lady  of  the  court,  and  she  endured  agonies  from 
jealousy.  When  she  scolded  and  cried  he  explained  that 
he  was  not  like  other  men,  and  was  not  subject  to  the 
same  laws  as  they.  He  told  Josephine  that,  being  an  em- 
peror, no  one  could  question  his  actions.  In  reality,  he 
despised  women.  He  thought  they  were  inferior  creatures, 
who  were  put  into  the  world  for  the  pleasure  of  men. 

Josephine  was  warm-hearted  and  tender,  but  not  very 


JOSEPHINE,  WIFE   OP   NAPOLEON  I 

wise.  She  was  passionately  attached  to  her  husband,  but 
she  never  became  friendly  with  his  family.  The  emperor's 
sisters  hated  her  and  tattled  to  their  brother  about  her 
weakness  for  jewels  and  her  willingness  to  take  presents. 
Her  chief  sorrow  was  that  she  had  given  her  husband  no 
son.  She  said  to  a  friend, 

"  You  can  have  little  idea  how  much  I  have  suffered 
when  any  one  of  you  has  brought  a  child  to  me.  Heaven 
knows  that  I  am  not  envious,  but  in  this  one  case  I  have 
felt  as  if  a  deadly  poison  were  creeping  through  my  veins 
when  I  have  looked  upon  the  fresh  an4  ro.sy  ch.eeks  of  a. 


346  [1809-1810 

beautiful  child,  the  joy  of  its  mother  and  the  hope  of  its 
father.  I  know,  I  know,  that  I,  who  have  given  my  hus- 
band no  child,  shall  be  driven  in  disgrace  from  him  whom 
I  love  more  than  my  life." 

Napoleon  took  time  to  consider  the  matter.  He  argued 
that  if  he  got  rid  of  Josephine  he  might  marry  the  daugh- 
ter or  the  sister  of  a  king  and  be  received  at  once  into 
kingly  society  ;  he  might  get  a  young  and  blooming  wife, 
instead  of  a  lady  of  forty-six  ;  and,  above  all,  he  might  get 
a  son  of  his  own  to  succeed  him  when  he  died.  I  don't 
think  he  troubled  himself  about  how  Josephine  would  feel 
at  parting  from  him,  or  whether  he  might  not  break  her 
heart.  Other  people's  hearts  did  not  concern  him  much. 

Having  thought  it  all  over,  he  sent  for  Josephine,  and 
told  her  bluntly  that  the  interests  of  France  required  him 
to  turn  her  out.  She  was  not  surprised.  She  had  read  her 
fate  in  the  faces  of  the  people  at  court,  who  knew  what 
the  emperor  intended  to  do.  She  meekly  bowed  her  head 
and  answered, 

"  I  was  prepared  for  this,  but  the  blow  is  none  the  less 
mortal." 

No  time  was  lost.  On  December  15th,  1809,  the  Coun- 
cil of  State  was  informed  by  Napoleon  that  he  intended  to 
divorce  his  wife.  He  had  no  complaint  to  make  of  her. 
She  had  done  nothing  wrong.  He  professed  to  love  her 
with  all  his  heart.  But  he  pretended  to  think  that  France 
required  a  lineal  heir  to  the  throne,  and  his  courtiers  pre- 
tended to  believe  him — as  though  the  country  would  go  to 
ruin  if  the  Bonaparte  dynasty  expired,  and  as  though  he 
had  no  nephews  to  carry  it  on. 

On  the  day  after,  Napoleon  with  all  his  court  assembled 
at  the  Tuileries.  They  were  all  splendidly  dressed.  Na- 
poleon entered  wearing  a  hat  with  drooping  plumes  ;  he 
folded  his  arms  across  his  chest,  as  one  who  has  nerved 
himself  to  a  great  sacrifice.  All  the  great  officers  of  state 
stood  round  the  room.  By  a  side-door,  Josephine,  all  in 
white  and  with  a  face  as  white  as  her  gown,  came  in  with 


MARIE  LOUISE  OP  AUSTRIA,  SECOND  WIFE  OF  NAPOLEON  I 

her  son  Eugene  and  her  daughter  Hortense.  In  the  centre 
of  the  room  stood  a  small  table,  on  which  there  was  an  ink- 
stand of  gold  and  a  gold  pen.  In  front  of  the  table  had 
been  set  an  arm-chair  in  which  the  empress  took  her  seat. 
A  court  official  read  a  deed  of  separation  ;  Josephine  took 
an  oath  that  it  was  her  free  act  and  deed,  then,  removing 
her  handkerchief  from  her  eyes  and  dipping  the  gold  pen 
into  the  golden  inkstand,  she  signed  her  name.  Leaning 
on  her  daughter's  arm,  she  left  the  room.  Next  morning, 
in  a  closed  carriage  drawn  by  six  horses,  she  left  the  Tuil- 
eries  forever  and  drove  to  Malmaison. 

Napoleon  cried  a  good  deal  in  public  after  she  was  gone. 


048  [1809-1810 

He  said  she  was  the  best  Woman  in  France.  He  did  not 
know  what  he  should  do  without  her.  But  he  soon  found 
out.  For  while  the  people  of  Paris,  who  loved  Josephine 
for  her  kindness  to  the  poor  and  for  her  grace  and  sweet 
temper,  were  murmuring  over  her  disgrace,  the  emperor 
despatched  a  confidential  officer  to  St.  Petersburg  to  ask 
for  the  hand  of  a  Russian  princess.  The  Romanoffs  are  a 
proud  family  ;  they  declined  the  honor  politely,  but  very 
firmly.  Then  the  officer  went  to  Vienna  and  ..asked  the 
emperor  would  he  accept  Napoleon  as  a  son-in-law  ?  Fran- 
cis was  not  so  particular.  He  replied, 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

And  accordingly,  on  March  10th,  1810,  not  three  months 
after  he  had  turned  Josephine  out  of  the  Tuileries,  Napo- 
leon was  married  by  proxy  to  Marie  Louise  of  Austria, 
whose  great-grandfather  was  the  brother  of  the  Marie  An- 
toinette who  had  been  guillotined  in  Paris. 

She  was  nineteen  years  old — amiable,  sweet,  and  stupid. 
Her  hair  was  light,  her  eyes  blue,  her  hands  and  feet  small, 
her  figure  graceful.  She  had  never  seen  Napoleon  till  he 
met  her  on  her  way  to  Paris.  The  only  remark  she  made 
was  that  he  was  better  looking  than  she  had  expected.  Ihit 
she  had  been  told  that  it  was  her  duty  to  love  him,  and 
she  was  ready  to  do  her  duty  as  a  well-bred  girl  should. 

On  April  1st,  1810,  the  French  marriage  took  place;  and 
on  the  20th  of  March  following  the  emperor's  son  was 
born,  in  a  room  in  which  there  were  twenty-two  people 
present  to  serve  as  witnesses.  Never  was  a  baby  so  grand- 
ly welcomed  into  the  world.  It  had  been  arranged  that 
if  the  child  was  a  girl,  twenty-one  guns  were  to  be  fired  ; 
if  a  boy,  one  hundred.  When  the  twenty  -  second  gun 
went  off,  all  Paris  burst  into  shouts,  and  the  men  threw 
their  hats  in  the  air  for  joy.  That  night  every  house  in 
Paris  was  illuminated.  At  street  corners  bands  played 
joyous  music,  bonfires  were  lit,  rockets  rose  in  the  air,  and 
fireworks  were  set  off  in  the  squares.  The  Parisian  women 
laughed  and  cried  in  the  ecstasy  of  their  delight,  and  the 


1809-1S10J 


349 


men  drank  bottle  after  bottle  of  wine,  as  if  a  great  happi- 
ness had  befallen  them. 

If  they  could  only  have  foreseen !  That  poor  little  boy 
was  made  King  of  Rome  while  he  was  still  in  long  clothes. 
When  he  was  five  years  old  he  was  taken  to  the  court  of 
his  grandfather,  the  Emperor  of  Austria,  to  live,  and  there 


THE   PALACE   OF  FONTAINEBLEAU 


he  grew  up — a  sad,  silent,  sickly  boy.  He  was  not  called 
King  of  Rome  any  more,  but  Duke  of  Reichstadt ;  king 
or  duke,  he  was  always  in  low  spirits,  and  with  the  brand 
of  fate  stamped  on  his  face.  He  had  no  intimate  friends ; 
he  loved  to  sit  by  himself  and  brood  and  mope,  or  to  ride 
alone  through  the  dark  woods  of  Schonbrunn.  Kind  peo- 
ple at  the  court  at  Vienna  tried  to  amuse  him  and  to  put 


350  [1809-1810 

a  little  life  into  him.  Beautiful  girls  shot  tender  glances 
at  him  out  of  bright  eyes.  But  nothing  interested  him. 
And  at  last,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  he  died,  having  had 
as  sad  a  life  as  the  beginning  of  it  was  joyful. 

When  he  was  a  child  he  had  a  curious  dislike  for  his 
mother,  who,  on  her  side,  rarely  cared  to  see  him.  There 
was  one  woman  who  pined  in  secret  for  a  sight  of  his 
face,  and  who  offered  to  humble  herself  before  Marie  Lou- 
ise if  she  might  be  allowed  to  fondle  Napoleon's  sou — that 
was  Josephine. 


CHAPTER  LI 

THE  WAR   IN  SPAIN 

A.D.    1807-1813 

I  THTNK  you  will  suspect  that  Napoleon  began  to  lose 
his  head  some  time  before  his  divorce  from  Josephine. 
His  mind  became  less  clear  than  it  had  been  ;  he  grew  sub- 
ject to  gusts  of  passion,  in  which  he  made  blunder  after 
blunder. 

England  and  France  were  at  war  without  fighting.  Eng- 
land declared  that  no  nation  should  trade  with  France, 
under  penalty  of  having  its  goods  seized  by  English  cruis- 
ers. France  declared  that  no  nation  should  trade  with 
England,  under  the  like  penalty.  As  England  had  a  large 
foreign  trade,  and  France  had  none,  this  arrangement  was 
hard  on  England's  customers,  and  some  of  them,  Portugal 
in  particular,  refused  to  stop  their  trade  with  England  to 
please  Napoleon.  On  this  Napoleon  put  a  little  notice  in 
his  paper : 

"The  house  of  Braganza  [which  was  the  reigning  house 
of  Portugal]  has  ceased  to  reign." 

And  he  sent  an  army  under  Junot  into  Portugal  to 
drive  out  the  king  and  occupy  the  country. 

In  the  neighboring  kingdom  of  Spain,  which  had  been 
an  ally  to  France,  confusion  prevailed.  King  Charles  the 
Fourth,  who  was  an  imbecile,  was  ruled  by  his  wife,  and 
she  was  ruled  by  an  adventurer,  whose  name  was  Manuel 
Godoy.  The  eldest  son  of  the  king,  Ferdinand,  was  as  bad 
as  his  father,  and  was  always  quarrelling  with  him.  One 
day  the  old  king  would  disinherit  his  son,  and  Ferdinand 
would  threaten  to  take  up  arms;  the  next  day  Charles 
would  forgive  him,  and  would  swear  that  it  was  Godoy  he 


352  [1807-1813 

wanted  to  get  rid  of.  Among  them  all  Spain  was  horri- 
bly governed.  Under  pretence  of  taking  one  side  or  the 
other,  and  also  of  supporting  Junot,  Napoleon  sent  an  army 
into  Spain. 

Then  on  false  pretexts,  and  by  making  promises  which 
he  did  not  intend  to  keep,  he  entrapped  King  Charles 
and  his  wife  and  their  son  Ferdinand  into  going  to  meet 
him  at  Bayonne  in  France.  When  he  got  them  there,  he 
bullied  Ferdinand,  who  was  a  weak  creature,  into  resign- 
ing his  claim  on  the  Spanish  throne,  in  exchange  for  a  cas- 
tle in  France  and  a  salary  of  a  million  francs  a  year ;  then 
turning  on  the  old  king,  he  frightened  him  so  terribly,  by 
threats  of  what  he  was  going  to  do,  that  Charles  abdicated 
and  made  over  his  throne  to  Napoleon.  So  now  the  ground 
was  clear. 

Napoleon  made  his  brother  Joseph,  who  was  King  of 
Naples,  King  of  Spain,  and  to  replace  him  as  King  of  Na- 
ples he  chose  Marshal  Murat,  who  had  been  a  waiter  in  a 
cafe,  but  who,  by  way  of  reward  for  turning  out  the  As- 
sembly on  the  eighteenth  Brumaire,  had  been  made  a 
marshal  of  France  and  allowed  to  marry  Napoleon's  sis- 
ter Caroline.  Thus,  you  perceive,  all  western  Europe,  from 
the  borders  of  Prussia  and  Austria,  was  to  be  ruled  by  a 
member  of  the  Bonaparte  family,  which  meant  Napoleon 
himself. 

But  the  emperor  forgot  that  no  people  likes  to  be  ruled 
by  a  foreigner.  Above  all  others,  the  Spaniards,  who  are 
a  high-spirited  people,  deeply  attached  to  their  own  coun- 
try, were  sure  to  rebel.  They  despised  Charles  and  Ferdi- 
nand ;  but,  after  all,  these  were  Spaniards,  and  they  thought 
the  worst  Spaniard  had  a  better  right  to  govern  Spain  than 
the  best  Frenchman.  All  over  Spain,  from  the  Pyrenees 
to  the  Mediterranean,  the  people  rose,  with  such  poor  arms 
and  such  poor  leaders  as  they  could  get,  and  swore  on  their 
crucifixes  that  they  would  fight  the  French  as  long  as  their 
ancestors  had  fought  the  Moors.  And  they  got  help.  On 
the  25th  of  October,  1§QQ}  an  English,  army,  un4er  the  com- 


1807-1813] 

mand  of  a  general  of  whom  you  will  hear  more— he  was 
then  Sir  Arthur  Wellesley— landed  at  Oporto  in  Portugal. 
The  Spanish  and  Portuguese  then  began  to  fight  in  ear- 
nest.    Junot's  army  was  forced  to  surrender.     And  the 


PORT   OF   HAVRE 

French  army,  at  Baylen,  was  attacked,  beaten,  and  many 
of  the  prisoners  murdered.  Such  was  the  rage  of  the  Span- 
iards, that  when  the  French  General  Dupont  was  marching 
on  Cordova  he  came  across  the  bodies  of  two  hundred 
Frenchmen — some  hanged  or  crucified  on  trees,  some  who 
had  been  half  buried  alive,  some  sawn  in  two  between 
planks.  Four  hundred  French  merchants  at  Valencia  were 
slaughtered  by  a  mob.  When  Spaniards'  blood  is  roused 
they  are  very  cruel. 

All  over  Spain  a  new  catechism  was  scattered ;  I  give 
you  a  short  extract : 

Q.  Child,  what  art  thou  ? 
23 


354  [1807-1813 

A.  A  Spaniard,  by  the  grace  of  God. 

Q.  Who  is  our  enemy  ? 

A.  The  Emperor  of  the  French. 

Q.  What  is  the  Emperor  of  the  French  ? 

A.  A  wicked  being,  the  source  of  all  evils,  and  the  cen- 
tre of  all  vice. 

Q.  How  many  natures  has  he  ? 

A.  Two,  the  human  and  the  diabolical. 

Q.  What  are  the  French  ? 

A.  Apostate  Christians  turned  heretics. 

Q.  Is  it  a  sin  to  kill  a  Frenchman? 

A.  No,  my  father;  heaven  is  gained  by  killing  one  of 
the  heretical  dogs. 

Maddened  by  the  obstinacy  of  the  Spaniards  in  defend- 
ing their  country,  Napoleon  entered  Spain  himself,  with 
three  hundred  thousand  men  and  some  of  his  best  gener- 
als, and  defeated  the  Spanish  armies  wherever  be  met  them. 
But,  as  in  the  old  times,  they  fled  to  the  mountains  when 
they  were  beaten,  and  after  a  breathing  -  spell  began  to 
fight  again  as  fiercely  as  ever.  There  was  one  walled  town 
named  Saragossa.  The  French  besieged  it  under  Lannes 
and  Junot,  and  at  last  broke  into  it.  But  every  house  was 
defended,  as  if  it  had  been  a  fortress.  It  was  necessary  to 
blow  up  each  building  separately,  and  the  men  with  their 
wives  kept  up  the  fight  after  they  saw  the  mine  was  going 
to  be  sprung.  At  last,  at  the  end  of  a  battle  which  lasted 
thirty-one  days,  after  the  French  had  got  into  the  city,  it 
surrendered,  fifty-four  thousand  people  out  of  a  population 
of  a  hundred  thousand  having  been  killed.  The  corpses 
which  the  garrison  had  not  had  time  to  bury  poisoned  the 
air. 

The  war  lasted  four  years  more,  but  Napoleon  was  not 
with  his  troops,  and  his  generals  lost  as  many  battles  as 
they  won.  It  is  difficult  to  conquer  a  country  where  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  is  resisting  the  conquest.  The 
French  were  led  by  one  French  marshal  after  another — 
Lannes,  Junot,  Ney,  Murat,  Soult,  Massena,  Suchet ;  the 


1807-1813]  355 

Spaniards  and  their  allies,  the  English,  by  Sir  Arthur 
Wellesley— who  afterward  became  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton—Sir John  Moore,  and  others.  In  the  war  splendid 
deeds  of  bravery  were  done  on  both  sides  and  glorious  vic- 
tories won.  But  you  will  not  remember  any  of  them  as 
well  as  the  lines  on  the  death  of  Sir  John  Moore,  who  was 
killed  as  his  army  was  retreating  to  Corunna.  I  dare  say 
you  learned  them  at  school : 

"Not  a  drum  was  heard,  nor  a  funeral  note, 

As  bis  corpse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried  ; 
Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot 

O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  was  buried. 
We  buried  him  darkly  at  dead  of  night, 

The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning , 
By  the  straggling  moonbeams'  misty  light, 

And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 
No  useless  coffin  enclosed  his  breast, 

Nor  in  sheet  nor  in  shroud  we  wound  him ; 
But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest, 

With  his  martial  cloak  around  him." 

The  end  of  the  war  in  Spain  was  that  the  French  were 
driven  out  by  the  combined  Spaniards  and  English,  and 
were  followed  in  pursuit  as  far  as  Toulouse  ,in  France, 
where  they  were  badly  beaten.  They  lost  thousands  of 
brave  soldiers,  who  were  sacrificed  to  Napoleon's  greed 
for  empire;  and  the  war  filled  the  hearts  of  Spaniards  with 
a  hatred  for  the  French  name  which  has  not  yet  been 
quenched. 


ST.  CLOUD 


CHAPTER  LIT 

DOWNFALL   OF   NAPOLEON 

A.D.  1812-1814 

NAPOLEON'S  attempt  to  make  his  brother  Joseph  King 
of  Spain  convinced  the  kings  of  Europe  that  there  could 
be  no  peace  for  them  so  long  as  the  emperor  reigned. 
They  were  still  so  much  afraid  of  him  that  none  of  them 
declared  war,  but  he  could  see  that  they  meant  it  all  the 
same.  He  prepared  for  it  accordingly,  and  as  the  first  step 
he  raised  the  number  of  his  army  to  a  million  men,  twice 
as  many  soldiers  as  the  Union  armies  ever  counted  at  any 
one  time  in  our  civil  war.  To  raise  this  enormous  force 
he  had  to  press  young  men  into  the  ranks  long  before  their 
beards  had  grown ;  in  many  villages  not  one  young  man 
or  half-grown  boy  was  left,  and  the  woods  were  full  of 
boys  trying  to  escape  the  draft.  He  also  drew  soldiers 
from  the  countries  he  had  overrun,  Italy,  Bavaria,  West- 
phalia, and  even  parts  of  Austria  and  Prussia. 

In  the  first  spring  days  of  1812  the  emperor  reviewed 
four  hundred  thousand  men  in  the  Field  of  Mars  at  Paris  ; 
they  made  so  grand  a  show  that  it  looked  as  though  under 


1812-1814]  357 

such  a  leader  they  could  conquer  all  Europe.  He  had  re- 
solved to  attack  Russia  first  ;  not  that  he  had  any  particu- 
lar ground  of  quarrel  with  her,  but  that  she  was  the  head 
of  the  combination  against  him  and  the  only  nation  in 
Europe,  except  England,  which  he  had  not  humbled.  Pre- 
texts for  a  war  were  easily  found,  and  in  March,  1812, 
he  ordered  his  army  to  move.  It  numbered  six  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  men,  sixty  thousand  horses,  and  twelve 
hundred  cannon. 

The  Russians  lay  waiting  for  them  on  the  Dwina  and 
the  Dnieper  rivers,  with  something  over  three  hundred 
thousand  men.  They  were  commanded  by  a  wise  old  gen- 
eral named  Barclay  de  Tolly,  who  knew  how  hard  it  was 
to  beat  Napoleon  in  battle.  When  the  French  came  up  he 
retreated,  burning  towns  and  villages,  grain,  fruit-trees, 
and  food  of  all  kinds.  Napoleon  pushed  on  ;  Barclay  kept 
falling  back  before  him.  Every  day  the  French  gained 
a  few  miles,  and  every  day  the  Russians  retreated  as  many. 
Thus  Barclay  kept  drawing  the  French  farther  and  farther 
from  their  home,  and  into  a  country  where  a  field-mouse 
would  have  starved.  The  Emperor  of  Russia  could  not  un- 
derstand this  wise  policy ;  he  removed  Barclay  and  put  in 
his  place  General  Kutusoff,  who  gave  battle  to  the  French 
at  a  place  called  Borodino. 

This  was  one  of  the  most  terrible  battles  of  these  terri- 
ble timeS.  The  Russians  lost  sixty  thousand  men  killed 
and  wounded,  the  French  thirty  thousand.  The  French 
won  the  day,  but  they  could  not  prevent  the  survivors  of 
the  Russian  army  from  retreating  into  Moscow.  Tbere 
the  French  followed  them. 

You  will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  just  before  entering 
Moscow,  Napoleon  wrote  to  the  Russian  emperor, 

"  Whatever  may  be  the  fortunes  of  war,  nothing  can 
weaken  my  regard  for  my  friend  of  Tilsit." 

You  see,  Napoleon  could  not  be  honest.  He  was  always 
playing  a  part  and  making  believe. 

MOSCOW  was  a  city  as  large  as  Baltimore  or  San  Fran- 


358  [1812-1814 

cisoo ;  it  was  the  ancient  capital  of  Russia,  and  was  full  of 
wealth  and  splendor.  When  the  French  saw  from  a  hill- 
top, under  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  the  ancient  city  with 
its  gilded  domes  and  Asiatic  spires,  its  roofs  glittering  with 
many-colored  tiles,  and  its  gorgeous  Kremlin,  the  citadel 
of  the  czars,  they  burst  into  shouts  of  joy.  They  felt  that 
here  were  rest  and  plenty,  and  glory  and  triumph,  such  as 
they  had  found  in  the  Italian  cities.  But  when  they  en- 
tered Moscow  they  found  it  as  empty  as  a  desert  and  as 
silent  as  a  grave.  There  was  no  one  in  the  streets.  The 
houses  were  all  shut  up.  The  only  sound  that  caught  their 
ear  was  the  occasional  howl  of  a  deserted  dog.  By  orders 
of  the  Russian  emperor  every  one  had  quitted  the  city, 
leaving  only  the  ghost  of  Moscow  behind.  The  French 
officers  galloped  from  quarter  to  quarter,  but  could  find  no 
enemy  and  no  people.  They  were  disappointed,  but  they 
made  the  best  of  it :  the  weary  troopers  camped  in  gor- 
geous palaces  and  stretched  themselves  under  silken  cano- 
pies ;  bearded  grenadiers  set  their  muddy  boots  on  laced 
linen  sheets  and  tried  to  forget  their  bleeding  wounds. 

That  night,  fire  broke  out  in  twenty  different  places  at 
once.  The  prisoners  had  been  released  from  the  jails  on 
condition  that  they  would  burn  Moscow  from  end  to  end. 
They  had  cut  off  the  supply  of  water  and  disabled  the 
fire-engines.  A  fierce  equinoctial  gale  swept  over  the  city, 
and  the  houses,  which  were  built  of  wood,  burned  like  tin- 
der. In  fifty  different  places  barrels  of  powder,  with  their 
heads  staved  in,  had  been  set  in  cellars.  Explosion  fol- 
lowed explosion  ;  the  night  air  was  lit  up  with  burning 
sticks  and  sparks;  the  Russian  jail -birds  crowed  with 
fiendish  glee.  In  wild  confusion  the  French  soldiers  rushed 
from  their  beds,  groped  their  way  through  smoke  and 
flame,  and  ran  into  the  suburbs  and  thence  into  the  coun- 
try. Those  who  had  served  in  Spain  said  to  each  other 
that  the  Russian  blood  was  up,  as  the  Spanish  blood  had 
been  up. 

Napoleon  made  the  best   of  his  way  to  a  castle  three 


1812-1814]  359 

miles  from  Moscow,  and  as  he  watched  the  sea  of  flames, 
which  rose  and  fell,  he  said, 

"  This  forebodes  no  common  calamity." 

In  which  prediction  he  was  more  nearly  right  than  he 
had  been  of  late  in  his  prophecies. 

The  fire  lasted  five  days.  At  the  end  of  that  time  there 
was  no  shelter  for  the  troops,  nor  food  for  them  to  live  on. 
So  thoroughly  had  the  work  been  done  that  fifteen  thou- 
sand Russians  who  had  been  left  in  the  hospitals  were  all 
burned  to  death. 

It  was  then  the  19th  of  September,  and  the  terrible  Rus- 
sian winter  was  near  at  hand.  If  Napoleon  had  been  wise, 
he  would  have  ordered  an  immediate  retreat.  But  he  was 
too  proud  to  avow  himself  beaten,  and  he  wasted  six  pre- 
cious weeks  in  skirmishing  round  Moscow,  while  his  men 
were  dying  of  hunger  and  privations  and  wounds  from  an 
unseen  foe.  At  last,  on  November  1st,  he  gave  orders  to 
march  homeward.  But  now  the  Russians  got  their  inn- 
ings. They  set  their  teeth  in  their  stolid  way,  and  vowed 
to  each  other  that  not  one  of  these  prowling  Frenchmen 
who  had  come  to  conquer  their  Russia  should  be  allowed  to 
return  home.  They  dogged  their  footsteps,  hung  on  their 
rear,  worried  their  flanks,  popped  up  in  front  of  them. 
Every  morning,  when  the  sun  rose  over  the  glittering 
stretches  of  the  snow-fields,  the  French  saw  between  them 
and  the  horizon  clouds  of  Cossacks,  riding  with  their  sharp 
lances  in  air,  waiting  for  a  chance  to  dash  in  and  stab 
tired  troopers  who  stopped  to  rest ;  every  little  hill  and 
clump  of  bushes  hid  a  party  of  sharp-shooters  who  took 
aim  at  the  weary  fugitives  as  they  passed.  From  morning 
till  night  the  crack  of  the  Russian  musket  never  ceased, 
and  the  French  could  be  followed  by  their  bloody  trail. 

As  the  season  advanced  terribly  cold  weather  set  in, 
with  heavy  snow-storms  and  icy  winds.  The  French  had 
lost  their  tents  and  their  overcoats.  They  lived  on  the 
flesh  of  the  horses  which  died  and  a  little  flour  soaked  in 
water.  The  wounded  had  to  be  left  behind  for  want  of 


3(30  [1812-1614 

means  to  move  them.  Frost  and  sickness  reduced  the  em- 
peror's guard  from  thirty-seven  thousand  to  ten  thousand, 
though  it  had  not  been  in  battle.  The  famous  first  corps, 
which  had  counted  seventy -five  thousand  bayonets  and 
sabres  at  the  beginning  of  the  campaign,  could  only  mus- 
ter eight  thousand  at  the  end.  Suffering  made  the  troops 
torpid  ;  they  just  lay  down  and  died  where  they  were.  On 
the  bank  of  the  Berezina,  where  large  bonfires  had  been 
lit  and  supplies  of  food  gathered,  they  crouched  round 
the  fires,  and  did  not  stir  when  the  Russian  bullets  came 
crashing  among  them.  When  they  were  warmed  and  fed, 
they  made  a  rush  for  the  bridges,  and  pushed  one  another 
into  the  freezing  river  in  tin  >i  haste  to  escape  the  Cossack 
lances. 

On  that  retreat  from  Moscow,  Napoleon  had  lost  his  wits 
as  well  as  his  men.  While  his  troops  were  starving,  he 
burned  up  provisions  for  fear  the  Russians  should  use 
them,  and  he  left  his  generals  to  get  out  of  the  scrape  into 
which  he  had  led  them.  On  December  the  5th,  without 
saying  a  word  to  any  one,  he  deserted  his  army  and 
ran  away  to  Paris.  He  left  Murat  in  command,  and  this 
general  managed  to  draw  off  the  small  remnant  of  the 
army,  who  fought  their  way  through  Cossacks  and  strug- 
gled through  snow-drifts  to  Wilna,  where  the  Russian 
pursuit  ceased. 

There  were  at  this  time  not  over  twenty-five  thousand 
troops  left.  Of  the  groat  army  which  Napoleon  had  led 
forth  to  conquer  Russia,  three  hundred  thousand  were 
dead,  and  one  hundred  thousand  were  prisoners.  The  rest 
had  been  left  in  garrison  on  the  line  of  march. 

Napoleon  reached  Paris  on  December  the  18th.  You 
might  suppose  that  after  such  an  awful  defeat  he  would 
try  to  make  peace  with  his  enemies.  Nothing  of  the  kind. 
By  gathering  the  soldiers  he  had  left  in  France,  scooping 
up  all  the  boys  he  could  find,  and  adding  them  to  the  rem- 
nant of  his  Russian  army  and  his  garrisons  in  Germany, 
Italy,  and  Spain,  he  figured  that  he  could  still  put  five  hun- 


1812-1814] 


361 


dred  thousand  men  in  the  field,  and  he  set  about  doing  it. 
Human  life  was  never  anything  to  him. 

But  his  luck  was  gone.  By  tremendous  efforts  he  suc- 
ceeded in  gathering  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  men 
—enough  perhaps  to  hold  his  own  against  Russia  and 
Prussia,  which  had  now  joined  Russia.  He  counted  that 
Austria  would  be  neutral,  because  he  had  married  the  Aus- 
trian emperor's  daughter,  and  here  is  where  his  calculations 
failed.  There  was  a  meeting  between  him  and  the  prime- 


RETREAT   OF   THE  FRENCH 

minister  of  Austria,  Metternich,  at  Dresden,  on  June  28th, 
1813.  Metternich,  who  was  more  far-sighted  and  more 
cool-headed  than  Napoleon,  told  him  frankly  that  Europe 
wanted  peace,  that  the  emperor  must  give  up  some  of  his 
conquests  and  gtop  making  war  on  h.is  neighbors.  Napo- 


362  [1812-1814 

leon  flew  into  one  of  his  rages,  dashed  a  priceless  porcelain 
vase  to  pieces,  threw  his  hat  on  the  ground  and  stamped 
on  it,  and  said  he  would  never,  never  surrender  a  foot  of 
land  he  had  won;  whereupon  Metternich,  with  a  sneering 
smile,  observed, 

"  Sire,  you  are  done  for." 

And  as  soon  as  the  Austrian  got  back  to  Vienna,  Austria 
joined  Russia  and  Prussia  against  France  and  agreed  to 
put  a  quarter  of  a  million  men  in  the  field.  Meanwhile, 
Bernadotte,  King  of  Sweden,  one  of  Napoleon's  old  gen- 
erals, joined  the  coalition,  Wellington,  with  his  English 
troops,  came  marching  up  from  Spain,  and  another  English 
army  landed  at  Hamburg.  With  his  old  dash  and  bold- 
ness, Napoleon  invaded  Germany  and  fought  several  bat- 
tles which  decided  nothing ;  but  the  enemy  were  two  to 
one,  and  at  last,  at  Leipsic,  on  October  18th,  1813,  he  fought 
a  battle  in  opposition  to  the  advice  of  his  wisest  generals. 
Here  his  Saxon  troops  deserted  him  as  soon  as  fire  was 
opened.  Napoleon  claimed  that  he  was  not  beaten,  but  in 
fact  the  result  of  the  fight  was  that  he  had  to  retreat  to 
France. 

Even  then  he  would  not  agree  to  the  terms  of  peace 
which  Metternich  pressed  on  him.  He  insisted  on  levying 
more  boy  -  soldiers.  There  was  no  reasoning  with  him, 
and  on  December  21st  Schwartzenberg,  at  the  head  of 
his  Austrians,  entered  France,  and  Bltlcher,  at  the  head  of 
his  Prussians,  followed  ten  days  afterward.  Both  armies 
headed  for  Paris.  Napoleon  fell  upon  them  again  and 
again  on  the  march  and  sometimes  won  small  victories ; 
but  the  great  swell  of  the  foreign  armies  was  too  mighty 
to  be  resisted,  and  on  the  last  day  of  March,  1814,  the 
allies,  under  the  command  of  the  Emperor  Alexander  of 
Russia,  entered  the  French  capital.  On  the  day  following 
the  French  Senate — ah  !  how  it  had  crawled  at  his  feet  in 
past  days  ! — decreed  that  Napoleon  had  ceased  to  reign. 

He  had  been  some  days  in  Paris,  listening  to  the  mutter- 
ing of  the  coming  storm.  He  knew  that  the  members  of 


1812-1814]  3C3 

the  Legislative  Assembly  were  tired  of  him  ;  he  called  them 
together  and  dismissed  them  with  these  words  : 

"  Your  object  is  to  humble  me.  My  life  may  be  sacri- 
ficed, but  my  honor,  never.  I  was  not  born  in  the  rank  of 
kings.  I  do  not  depend  on  the  throne.  What  is  a  throne? 
A  few  deal  boards  covered  with  velvet.  Must  I  sacrifice 
my  pride  to  obtain  peace  ?  I  am  proud,  because  I  am  brave. 
I  am  proud,  because  I  have  done  great  things  for  France. 
France  needs  me  more  than  I  need  her.  In  three  months 
we  shall  have  peace,  or  I  will  be  dead.  Now  go  to  your 
homes." 

He  was  at  Fontainebleau  when  the  Senate  deposed  him, 
and  even  then  he  proposed  to  go  on  with  the  tight  in  the 
streets  of  Paris.  But  his  officers  flatly  told  him  they  would 
be  guilty  of  no  such  folly.  Then  he  said  he  would  abdi- 
cate in  favor  of  his  son.  This  was  proposed  to  the  allied 
generals,  and  Alexander  of  Russia,  who  was  tender-hearted 
and  liked  Napoleon,  was  for  accepting  it.  But  the  other 
generals  would  not  listen  to  it  for  a  moment,  and  after 
spending  a  whole  night  in  vain  pleadings,  at  six  in  the 
morning,  on  April  2d,  he  signed  a  paper,  renouncing  the 
French  throne  for  himself  and  his  heirs. 

It  read  as  follows  : 

"  The  allied  powers  having  proclaimed  the  Emperor  Na- 
poleon to  be  the  only  obstacle  to  the  restoration  of  peace 
in  Europe,  the  Emperor  Napoleon,  faithful  to  his  oath,  de- 
clai'es  that  he  renounces  for  himself  and  his  heirs  the 
thrones  of  France  and  Italy,  and  that  there  is  no  sacrifice, 
even  that  of  life,  which  he  is  not  ready  to  make  for  the 
interests  of  France. 

"  Given  at  the  palace  of  Fontainebleau,  April  2d,  1814." 

It  was  arranged  that  he  should  have  the  island  of  Elba 
in  the  Mediterranean  for  a  dominion.  He  was  to  start  for 
his  new  empire  on  April  20th.  His  wife  and  his  son  were 
not  to  go  with  him.  Her  father,  the  Emperor  of  Austria, 
thought  she  would  be  safer  at  Vienna,  and  in  her  dull, 
passive  way  she  thought  so  too.  Napoleon  did  not  care 


S64 

to  have  her,  and  she  had  long  before  let  every  one  see  that 
she  did  not  care  for  him.  There  was  one  woman  whose 
heart  was  aching  with  painful  longing  to  be  with  him  in  his 
hour  of  sorrow.  That  was  Josephine.  She  offered  to  go 
to  take  care  of  him,  and  to  be  his  handmaid  and  his  nurse, 
if  Marie  Louise  kept  out  of  the  way.  But  all  parties  said 
it  was  out  of  the  question. 

In  one  of  the  magnificent  galleries  of  paintings  in  Paris 
you  will  see  a  fine  picture  of  Napoleon  taking  leave  of  his 
marshals  and  generals. 

Perhaps  you  may  think  it  a  trifle  theatrical.  For  two 
or  three  years  the  emperor  had  been  grossly  unjust  to  his 
generals,  blaming  them  for  the  results  of  his  own  blunders. 
Many  of  them  were  tired  of  him  and  of  his  endless  wars, 
in  which  they  had  seen  their  brothers  in  arms  give  up  their 
lives  for  his  ambition.  Some  of  them  had  for  some  time 
been  secretly  treating  with  the  enemy.  I  don't  think  that 
those  who  knew  him  best  were  sorriest  to  get  rid  of  him. 

When  he  parted  from  them  he  threw  his  eyes  to  heaven 
and  cried, 

"Soldiers,  I  have  but  one  mission  left  in  life — to  recount 
to  posterity  the  glorious  deeds  we  have  done  together." 

I  do  not  find  that  that  history  was  begun  till  long  after- 
ward, when  Napoleon  had  nothing  else  to  do  ;  and  I  sus- 
pect that,  even  when  he  uttered  these  words,  he  was  think- 
ing how  near  Elba  was  to  France. 

On  his  way  south  the  people  of  Avignon  and  Orgon 
mobbed  his  escort,  and  shouted  that  the  tyrant  should  be 
hanged  or  thrown  into  the  Rhone.  At  Orgon,  the  first  ob- 
ject which  struck  his  eye  was  an  effigy  of  himself,  hanging 
by  a  rope  round  its  neck  and  swinging  in  the  air.  When 
the  gate  of  the  court-yard  where  his  carriage  stopped  was 
closed,  a  butcher  chopped  it  in  pieces  with  an  axe,  and 
the  yard  quickly  filled  with  a  seething,  shouting  crowd  of 
men  and  women. 

"  Where  are  my  two  sons,  whom  I  lost  in  Russia  ?"  cried 
one  woman. 


1812-1814] 


365 


"  Where,"  cried  another,  "  is  my  husband,  who  fell  at 
Wagrara  ?" 

"  Give  me  my  father,  who  was  killed  in  Italy,"  screamed 
a  third. 

The  escort  had  to  bestir  themselves  to  get  their  prisoner 
off  safely.  Napoleon  put  on  a  disguise  and  drove  away 
by  a  back  gate.  Thus  he  got  through,  embarked  on  an 
English  frigate,  and  landed  at  Porto  Ferrayo  in  Elba  on 
May  4th,  1814. 


AVIGNON 


LOUIS  XVIII 

CHAPTER   LIII 

WATERLOO 
A.D.   1814-1815 

WHEN  Napoleon  was  overthrown  the  government  of 
France  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  the 
Emperor  of  Austria,  and  an  exceedingly  adroit  French- 
man whose  name  was  Talleyrand.  These  three  decided 
that  Louis,  the  brother  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth,  was  the 
proper  person  to  succeed  the  emperor ;  he  was  to  be 
known  as  Louis  the  Eighteenth,  because  the  poor  little 
dauphin,  who  had  died  in  the  Temple  and  had  never 
reigned  at  all,  must  be  counted  among  the  kings  of 
France,  as  Louis  the  Seventeenth.  It  was  agreed  that  the 
conquests  of  Napoleon  should  be  given  up,  and  that,  under 
her  new  king,  France,  with  her  old  boundaries,  should 
make  such  laws  for  herself  as  she  saw  fit,  without  foreign 
interference. 

Louis  the  Eighteenth  was  a  fat  man  of  sixty,  who  had 
spent  the  last  twenty-five  years  in  England  and  had  be- 
come very  English  indeed.  He  had  never  had  any  ex- 
perience in  public  affairs  or  in  the  wars  of  J.he  day.  He 


V 


TALLEYRAND 


was  a  quiet  old  gentleman,  who  loved  his  ease  and  his 
books  ;  he  was  fond  of  the  Latin  poets  ;  he  was  also  fond 
of  English  roast  beef  and  plum  pudding;  in  the  middle  of 
a  good  dinner  he  would  eat  half  a  dozen  lamb  chops  just 
by  way  of  whetting  his  appetite.  You  will  not  be  sur- 
prised to  hear  that  he  was  gouty  and  walked  with  diffi- 
culty. He  wore  a  blue  coat  with  epaulets,  an  English  hat, 
and  red  velvet  gaiters  which  hid  his  swollen  legs.  He 
had  neither  wife  nor  children,  but  the  daughter  of  Louis 
the  Sixteenth,  who  was  called  the  Duchess  of  Angoul6me, 
lived  with  him  and  took  care  of  him.  Another  lady,  who 
was  beautiful  and  gifted,  and  whose  name  was  Madame 


368  [1814-1815 

Du  Cayla,  also  took  care  of  him  and  bandaged  his  gouty 
legs.  He  was  so  sluggish  that,  when  he  was  told  he  was 
wanted  in  Paris  to  reign  over  France,  he  was  loath  to 
leave  his  quiet  English  home.  But  he  came,  landed  at 
Calais  on  April  24th,  1814,  and  travelling  by  easy  stages, 
for  fear  of  making  his  gout  worse,  entered  Paris  on  the 
3d  of  May,  in  a  coach  drawn  by  eight  horses,  with  the 
Duchess  of  Angouleme  by  his  side. 

He  soon  showed  that  he  had  learned  nothing  in  his  long 
exile.  He  made  a  speech  in  which  he  said  that  he  owed 
his  throne  to  the  English,  which  could  not  have  been 
pleasant  to  the  French.  He  ordered  the  old  French  flag, 
which  was  white  with  lilies  on  it,  to  be  restored,  and  for- 
bade the  flying  of  the  tricolor,  under  which  the  French 
soldiers  had  won  so  much  glory.  He  said  that  he  wanted 
to  put  things  back  just  where  they  had  been  before  the 
Revolution.  Now,  the  French  had  learned  a  great  deal 
during  the  twenty-five  years  that  he  had  spent  abroad  ; 
and  though  some  of  the  things  they  had  learned  were  not 
good,  others  were,  and  «$he  people  did  not  take  kindly  to 
the  idea  of  having  all  the  lessons  of  those  years,  bitter  as 
some  of  them  had  been,  wiped  out  altogether.  They  be- 
gan by  treating  their  new  king  with  indifference,  then  they 
got  to  despising  him,  and  finally  they  hated  him. 

There  were  in  France  thousands  of  old  soldiers  who  had 
grown  to  love  the  excitement  and  the  glory  and  the  spoil 
of  war.  Many  of  them  forgave  Napoleon  his  selfishness 
and  the  reckless  way  in  which  he  had  led  his  troops 
to  death,  for  the  sake  of  the  fame  and  the  rewards  he 
showered  on  them  when  they  won  battles.  Under  him 
every  private  expected  to  become  a  general  and  to  live  in 
a  palace.  They  now  grumbled  at  the  idea  of  leading  hum- 
drum lives  of  peace.  After  Napoleon  had  gone,  these  old 
growlers  compared  him  to  the  dull,  gouty,  fat  man  who 
had  taken  his  place  —  not  much  to  the  advantage  of 
Louis. 

hero  was  chafing  in  his  little  i 


1814-1815]  369 

which  was  not  much  larger  than  the  District  of  Columbia 
and  was  chiefly  crag  and  bog  and  wild  forest.  He  could 
ride  round  it  in  a  day.  In  clear,  bright  weather  he  used 
to  sit  on  the  top  of  a  mountain  and  gaze  wistfully  at  the 
coast  of  Italy,  where  he  had  won  his  first  victories.  After 
a  time  his  longing  to  get  out  of  his  narrow  prison,  in  which 
he  could  hardly  breathe,  and  back  into  the  great  world 
once  more  became  too  strong  to  be  resisted.  He  had  re- 
nounced the  crown  of  France  for  himself  and  his  heirs. 
But  I  dare  say  you  remember  he  had  broken  his  word 
before.  It  was  no  new  thing. 

On  February  26th,  1815,  after  less  than  ten  months'  cap- 
tivity, he  «stole  out  of  Elba,  with  eleven  hundred  men 
and  a  little  fleet  of  small  vessels,  and  steered  for  France. 
Three  days  afterward  he  landed  ne  u  Cannes,  in  Provence. 
Without  losing  an  hour  he  climbed  the  foot-hills  of  the 
Alps  and  took  the  road  for  Grenoble.  He  had  provided 
himself  with  proclamations,  in  which  he  said, 

"  Frenchmen  !  in  my  exile  I  heard  your  prayers.  I 
have  crossed  the  sea  to  assert  my  rights,  which  are  yours. 
Come  and  take  your  place  under  the  standard  of  your 
chief!  Victory  will  advance  with  full  gallop,  and  the 
eagle  with  the  national  colors  will  fly  from  steeple  to 
steeple,  even  to  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame." 

The  appeal  had  the  old  ring.  The  people  of  Dauphine, 
through  which  he  passed,  forgot  all  about  their  sufferings 
and  his  mad  rage  for  war,  and  met  him  with  shouts  of 
"  Long  live  the  emperor  !"  Some  joined  his  little  band  ; 
others  brought  him  horses  and  provisions.  At  Grenoble, 
a  royal  regiment  tried  to  stop  him  ;  he  stepped  forth  in 
his  old  gray  overcoat  and,  with  his  cocked  hat  on,  marched 
straight  up  to  the  front  rank  and  cried, 

"  Soldiers,  do  you  know  me  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  answered  hundreds  of  voices. 

Then  he  threw  open  his  overcoat,  and,  baring  his  breast, 
he  shouted, 

"  Which  among  you  will  fire  on  your  emperor?" 
24 


370  [1814-1815 

A  roar  of  "Long  live  the  emperor  !"  rose  to  heaven, and 
big  men  cried  for  joy  at  seeing  him  again. 

In  Paris  all  was  commotion.  The  fat  old  king,  wheez- 
ing and  whining,  began  to  pack  his  trunk,  and  his  courtiers 
bought  tickets  for  Belgium.  A  few  of  the  generals  were 
for  fighting  it  out.  One  of  these  was  Ney,  who  had  been 
an  especial  favorite  of  the  emperor's  and  was  the  bravest 
of  the  brave  ;  he  told  Louis  that  if  he  would  give  him  an 
army  corps  he  would  march  against  Napoleon  and  "  bring 
him  back  in  an  iron  cage."  He  got  his  army  corps  and 
did  march,  but  he  no  sooner  met  the  emperor  than  he  pro- 
claimed him  the  only  rightful  ruler  of  France  and  joined 
him  in  the  march  to  Paris. 

Napoleon  reached  the  Tuileries  on  March  20th  and  was 
nearly  stifled  by  the  crowds  which  filled  the  rooms  and  the 
passages  to  get  a  sight  of  him,  and  wring  his  hands,  and 
fall  on  his  neck,  in  the  excitable  way  the  French  have.  He 
had  not  fired  a  shot  on  his  three  weeks'  journey.  Every 
one  seemed  as  glad  to  see  him  as  he  was  to  be  back.  From 
the  wild  joy  of  the  people  he  might  have  imagined  that  his 
troubles  were  over.  But  he  was  too  wise  for  that. 

He  knew  that  in  two  months  all  Europe  would  be  in 
arms  against  him  again,  with  forces  so  much  larger  than 
his  that  nothing  short  of  a  miracle  would  enable  him  to 
hold  his  own  against  them.  He  tried  to  conciliate  every 
one.  His  old  harshness  and  his  imperious  manner  were 
gone.  He  submitted  to  rebuke  quite  meekly  and  let  his 
officers  scold  him,  even  when  he  was  right  and  they  were 
wrong.  He  was  ready,  he  said,  to  give  up  his  foreign  con- 
quests, and  to  let  France  have  a  real  instead  of  a  sham  As- 
sembly to  make  laws  for  her.  Ah  !  if  his  word  could  only 
have  been  trusted  ! 

In  public  he  was  cheerful  and  even  gay,  but  this  was 
only  acting  ;  in  private  he  was  bowed  down  by  sadness. 
He  spent  days  and  nights  in  thinking  over  the  past  and 
brooding  over  the  future.  In  his  inmost  soul  he  felt  that 
his  sun  was  set.  His  chief  companion  in  those  days  was 


1814-1815]  371 

Hortense,  Josephine's  daughter— Josephine  herself  hud 
died  when  he  was  at  Elba.  With  Hortense  he  spent  long 
hours  at  Malmaison,  wondering  what  strange  lot  fortune 
had  yet  in  store  for  him. 

He  knew  that  his  only  chance  was  to  strike  the  first  blow 
at  the  Russians  and  Austrians  and  Prussians  and  English 
and  Belgians  who  were  gathering  beyond  the  Rhine,  and 
with  what  soldiers  he  could  gather  he  left  Paris  in  June. 
Before  he  left  he  appointed  a  council  to  rule  France  while 
he  was  with  the  army.  His  last  words  to  them  were  mourn- 
ful. He  said, 

"  If  I  am  victorious  we  shall  build  up  a  new  regime.  If 
I  am  conquered  God  alone  knows  what  will  become  of  you 
and  of  me.  It  is  our  fate,  and  nothing  can  avert  it.  All 
will  be  decided  in  twenty  or  thirty  days.  For  the  present 
let  us  do  what  we  can  and  see  what  the  future  will  bring. 
But  let  the  friends  of  liberty  look  well  to  it ;  if  the  game 
is  lost  they  will  have  to  deal  with  the  Bourbons,  who  will 
be  worse  than  I  have  been." 

He  set  out  for  Belgium  with  a  hundred  and  eighty-two 
thousand  soldiers.  "Waiting  for  him  near  the  city  of  Brus- 
sels were  a  hundred  and  twenty-four  thousand  Prussians, 
under  Bliicher,  and  ninety-five  thousand  English  and  Dutch, 
under  Wellington.  Three  hundred  thousand  Austrians 
and  a  hundred  and  seventy-five  thousand  Russians  were  on 
the  march,  and  would  join  the  English  and  Prussians  in 
July.  On  June  loth,  Napoleon  crossed  the  Sambre  with  a 
hundred  and  twenty-four  thousand  men  and  three  hundred 
and  fifty  cannon. 

On  the  16th  he  beat  the  Prussians  at  Ligny ;  on  the  17th 
it  rained  all  day,  and  artillery  could  not  be  used  ;  on  the 
18th  the  battle  of  Waterloo  was  fought. 

This  was  one  of  the  most  bloody  battles  of  modern  times, 
and  it  changed  the  face  of  Europe.  The  battle  began  at 
eleven  in  the  morning,  as  soon  as  the  fog  had  lifted  from 
the  wet  fields  ;  it  did  not  end  till  near  nine  in  the  evening, 
when  the  faces  of  the  dead  and  the  wounded  could  no 


372  [1814-1816 

longer  be  seen  for  the  darkness.  All  that  day  the  cannon 
thundered  with  an  endless  roar,  and  the  French  cuirassiers, 
with  their  shining  steel  breastplates  and  on  their  big  horses, 
charged  and  charged  and  charged  again  upon  the  squares 
which  the  English  infantry  formed  on  a  hill.  On  a  hill  on 
one  side  of  the  battle-field  Napoleon  sat  on  his  horse,  with 
his  spyglass  in  his  hand  ;  on  the  other  side  of  the  battle- 
field, also  on  a  hill,  stood  Wellington,  in  his  red  uniform, 
silent,  stern,  and  cold.  Between  the  two  the  face  of  the 
plain  was  often  hidden  from  view  by  clouds  of  smoke 
through  which  red  flames  flashed. 

When  the  French  cuirassiers  again  and  again  charged 
up  the  hill  to  the  spot  where  Wellington  stood,  he  threw 
himself  into  an  infantry  square,  and  said  quietly, 

"  Hard  pounding  this,  gentlemen." 

When  the  Scotch  Grays,  an  English  cavalry  regiment, 
charged  the  French  lancers  and  actually  rode  through 
them,  Napoleon,  who  was  watching  with  his  spyglass,  said 
to  the  Belgian  who  held  his  horse, 

"Look  at  those  gray  horses — how  they  work  !  They 
are  all  mixed  up  with  my  lancers." 

It  was  the  French,  led  by  Ney,  who  forced  the  fighting. 
The  English  stood  stubbornly  in  their  squares,  or  lay  down 
on  their  faces  on  the  ground  to  avoid  the  hail  of  round 
shot  and  grape  and  bullets. 

Both  generals  kept  gazing  from  time  to  time  into  the 
distance.  Napoleon  expected  Grouchy  to  arrive  with 
thirty-four  thousand  fresh  men  ;  but  he  never  came,  nor 
even  sent  to  say  he  was  coming.  Wellington  expected 
Bliicher  with  his  Prussians  ;  he  did  come,  early  in  the 
evening,  and  when  he  came  the  battle  was  won.  He 
launched  his  troopers  against  the  tired  French,  and,  Wel- 
lington hurling  his  English  guards  against  them  at  the 
same  time,  the  emperor's  army  broke  and  fled. 

One  battalion  of  the  Imperial  Guard  formed  a  square,  and 
when  the  English  summoned  it  to  surrender,  its  commander, 
old  Cambronne,  replied, 


1814-1815] 


3Y3 


"  The  guard  may  die,  but  it  will  not  surrender." 
The  English  pulled  trigger,  and  not  one  man  escaped. 
When  darkness  fell  the  French  army  had  ceased  to  ex- 
ist.    Through  all  the  dark  hours  of  that  summer  night 
fierce  old  Blucher,  with  his  heavy  cavalry  and  his  flying 
artillery,  galloped  after  the  flying  French,  taking  prisoners 
and  slaughtering.     In  all  his  life  Blucher  never  spared  a 
beaten  enemy.    The  pursuit  only  stopped  when  the  swords 


TOMB  OP  NAPOLEON  AT  ST.  HELENA 

of  the  troopers  were  dripping  with  blood,  and  they  were 
falling  from  their  horses  from  weariness.  At  that  hour 
Napoleon,  curled  up  at  the  bottom  of  a  carriage,  was  being 
driven  swiftly  to  Paris,  gazing  with  wide-open  eyes  into 
the  darkness. 

When  he  reached  the  city  he  still  planned  further  re- 
sistance. But  the  Assembly  plucked  up  courage  enough  to 
demand  his  abdication,  and  when  he  proposed  to  abdicate 


374  [1814-1815 

in  favor  of  his  son  they  would  not  even  answer  him.  So 
he  took  horse  and  started  with  a  few  old  friends  for  the 
sea-coast,  whence  he  said  he  would  sail  to  the  United  States. 
While  he  was  riding  the  English  and  Prussians  entered 
Paris,  and  sent  word  to  Louis  the  Eighteenth  that  he  might 
come  back. 

Napoleon  left  Paris  on  June  the  29th.  For  three  days  he 
never  spoke  a  word.  On  July  the  3d  he  arrived  at  Roche- 
fort,  which  was  blockaded  by  an  English  battle-ship  called 
the  Sellerophon.  On  board  this  vessel  the  emperor  took 
refuge,  saying  that  he  cast  himself  on  the  hospitality  of 
the  English  and  claimed  the  protection  of  their  laws.  The 
Bellerophon  weighed  anchor  and  sailed  to  England. 

Napoleon  did  not  receive  from  the  English  the  hospital- 
ity he  expected.  The  government  decided  to  send  him  to 
the  little  sultry,  barren  rock  of  St.  Helena,  in  the  tropics, 
off  the  coast  of  Africa,  and  to  hold  him  there  as  a  prisoner. 
St.  Helena  is  surrounded  by  so  stormy  a  sea  that  it  is  not 
easy  to  land  on  it,  or  to  leave  it,  except  in  very  fair  weather. 

If  a  ship-of-war  mounted  guard  near  the  island  Napoleon 
could  not  escape  from  the  place,  as  he  had  escaped  from 
Elba.  That  was  what  the  powers  wanted  to  make  sure  of. 
The  fallen  emperor  was  allowed  to  take  with  him  three  of 
his  old  generals,  a  personal  friend,  a  doctor,  and  twelve 
servants.  He  had  a  plantation  in  the  centre  of  the  island 
for  his  residence,  horses  to  ride,  and  a  good  table.  But  to 
keep  sure  watch  of  him  an  English  officer  was  required  to 
see  him  twice  every  day,  and  when  he  rode  off  his  planta- 
tion he  was  followed  by  this  officer  on  horseback. 

Over  him  was  set  the  Governor  of  St.  Helena,  Sir  Hud- 
son Lowe.  I  suppose  that  no  one  in  such  a  station  could 
have  pleased  his  prisoner,  and  that  Napoleon,  who  grew 
irritable  in  his  captivity,  could  not  have  been  friendly 
with  his  jailer,  even  though  the  latter  had  been  an  angel. 
But  Sir  Hudson  Lowe  was  a  small-minded,  mean  man,  who 
seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  annoying  Napoleon  and  making 
him  feel  that  he  was  fallen  indeed.  The  British  govern- 


1814-1815] 


375 


ment,  to  which  he  had  given  so  much  trouble,  did  not  go 
out  of  its  way  to  make  life  pleasant  for  one  who  had  cost 
England  so  many  lives  and  so  much  money.  It  was  con- 
stantly laying  down  rules  which  wounded  the  emperor's 
proud  spirit  and  threw  him  into  rages. 

One  source  of  quarrel  was  the  title  by  which  he  was  to 
be  addressed.  He  insisted  on  being  called  the  Emperor 
Napoleon.  To  this  Sir  Hudson  Lowe  replied  that  he  was 
not  emperor  any  more,  and  that  his  right  title  was  General 


LUXEMBOURG 

Bonaparte.  Napoleon  would  not  receive  letters  addressed 
to  General  Bonaparte  ;  Sir  Hudson  would  not  deliver  any 
to  the  Emperor  Napoleon.  Finally  it  was  settled  that  the 
latter  should  be  called  plain  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  without 
the  title  of  emperor  or  general  or  even  mister. 

He  was  not  allowed  to  write  sealed  letters  to  any  one. 
When  he  wrote  to  his  friends  Sir  Hudson  opened  the  let- 
ters and  read  them.  He  could  not  receive  money  from  his 
own  family. 

He  was  in  bad  health  when  he  arrived  at  St.  Helena. 


376  [1814-1815 

His  constitution  had  been  broken  down  by  work  and  anxi- 
ety. Under  the  fierce  rays  of  the  blazing  sun  of  that 
treeless,  scorched  island  he  grew  worse,  and  cancer  set  in. 
The  dreadful  disease  grew  gradually  worse,  and  the  pain 
it  caused  became  frightful.  In  April,  1821,  when  he  was 
fifty-two  years  old,  he  knew  that  he  was  dying.  He  called 
his  friends  round  him  and  told  them. 

"  You,"  he  said,  "  will  return  to  Europe.  I  am  going  to 
meet  Kleber,  Desaix,  Lannes,  and  my  other  dead  comrades. 
They  will  come  to  meet  me.  We  shall  speak  together  of 
what  we  have  done.  We  shall  talk  of  our  profession." 

The  agony  grew  worse,  and  he  became  delirious.  In  his 
delirium  he  cried,  "  My  son  !  The  army  !  Desaix  !  The 
head  of  the  army  !" 

As  the  sun  was  setting  that  night  in  waves  of  light  over 
the  rolling  ocean,  and  just  as  an  English  cannon  fired  the 
evening  gun,  an  attendant  stepped  to  his  bedside  and 
found  that  he  was  dead.  His  body  was  straight,  and  there 
was  a  tranquil  smile  on  his  face.  It  was  the  5th  of  May, 
the  anniversary  of  his  first  day  at  Elba,  seven  years  before. 

When  Louis  the  Eighteenth  got  back  on  his  throne, 
under  the  protection  of  English  and  Prussian  bayonets,  he 
determined  to  make  an  example  of  some  officers  who  had 
been  false  to  him  when  Napoleon  returned  from  Elba.  He 
chose  Marshal  Ney  to  begin  with. 

The  marshal,  as  you  remember,  had  been  one  of  Na- 
poleon's favorite  generals.  When  Louis  the  Eighteenth 
came  to  the  throne,  after  the  retreat  from  Moscow,  Ney 
offered  him  his  services  and  was  given  a  high  command. 
When  Napoleon  returned  from  Elba  it  was  Ney  who  volun- 
teered to  meet  his  old  commander,  and  he  went  out  of  his 
way  to  say  that  he  would  bring  him  back  to  Paris  in  an 
iron  cage.  When  he  did  meet  him  he  deserted  his  king, 
joined  Napoleon,  marched  with  him  to  Paris,  and  fought 
gallantly  at  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  I  think  you  will  have 
to  conclude  that  if  any  man  had  been  guilty  of  treason, 
Ney  was  the  man. 


MARSHAL   NEY 


He  was  arrested,  put  on  his  trial  before  the  Chamber  of 
Peers,  found  guilty,  and  sentenced  to  be  shot.  The  king 
refused  to  pardon  him,  though  some  of  his  best  friends 
begged  Ney's  life  on  their  knees. 

He  was  taken  into  the  Luxembourg  Gardens  and  set 
with  his  back  against  the  wall.  You  can  see  the  spot  if 
you  go  to  Paris  ;  a  statue  of  Ney  has  lately  been  erected 
there.  A  file  of  veteran  troops  stood  in  front  of  him.  He 
took  off  his  hat  and  waved  it,  crying,  "  Long  live  France  !" 
then,  raising  his  left  hand  to  his  breast,  he  called, 

"  Soldiers,  aim  at  my  heart." 

The  officer  gave  the  command ;  and  Ney  fell  on  his  face, 
dead,  with  ten  bullets  in  his  breast. 


THE    BOURBONS 
A.D.  1815-1830 

Louis  THE  EIGHTEENTH  had  studied  politics  in  England, 
and  his  idea  of  governing  a  country  was  to  have  a  parlia- 
ment elected  by  the  people  and  to  let  it  make  the  laws. 
He  arranged  accordingly  for  the  election  of  a  Chamber  to 
act  with  a  House  of  Peers,  and  appointed  a  ministry  that 
was  expected  to  be  agreeable  to  both.  But  the  persons 
who  composed  the  Chamber  were  a  small,  select  class,  and 
they  were  not  born  with  the  faculty  of  self-government. 
People  must  be  educated  up  to  that  business,  and  very 
often  the  education  takes  time.  The  Chamber  which  met 
became  as  hot  a  scene  of  strife  as  the  old  Assembly  and 
the  Convention  had  been  ;  nobody  was  willing  to  yield  any- 
thing to  anybody  else,  and  instead  of  healing  the  wounds 
of  France  the  Chamber  seemed  to  make  them  worse. 

The  people  were  divided  into  two  parties.  One  consist- 
ed of  those  who  wanted  to  make  the  best  of  the  situation, 
to  forget  the  past,  and  try  to  get  the  government  working 
again  in  an  orderly  way  ;  the  other  was  led  by  the  Emi- 
grants and  the  old  nobles,  who  wanted  to  take  vengeance 
on  the  men  of  the  Revolution  and  the  followers  of  Napo- 
leon and  to  put  things  back  on  their  old  footing.  Between 
these  two  parties  Louis  wavered,  now  this  way,  now  that. 
He  could  not  prevent  the  exile  and  execution  of  a  number 
of  Napoleon's  friends,  though  he  tried  to  do  so.  But  he  ad- 
hered to  the  old  notion  that  kings  were  kings  by  the  grace 
of  God,  and  that  the  will  of  the  people  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  case.  He  never  quite  understood  that  there  had 
been  a  revolution  in  France,  and  that  men's  opinions  had 
changed  in  the  past  twenty -five  years, 


1815-1830]  379 

He  was  old,  too,  and  lazy,  and  his  gout  troubled  him  a 
great  deal;  so,  when  the  nobles  and  Madame  du  Cay  la  bul- 
lied him,  telling  him  that  the  party  of  order  would  guillotine 
him  as  they  had  guillotined  his  brother,  he  shivered  and  let 
them  lead  him.  They  brought  the  Jesuits  back;  they  pro- 
posed to  restore  the  old  privileges  of  the  nobility  and  the 
clergy;  they  would  not  allow  any  one  to  vote  unless  he 
had  property  worth  at  least  sixty  dollars  ;  they  put  a  gag  in 
the  mouth  of  newspapers;  they  filled  the  offices  with  men 
of  title.  Finally,  the  wretched  King  of  Spain — the  same 
man  who  had  sold  his  birthright  to  Napoleon  for  a  castle  in 
France  and  a  million  francs  a  year — having  fallen  out  with 
his  people,  they  gave  Louis  no  rest  till  he  sent  an  army 
into  Spain,  under  his  nephew,  to  put  the  Spaniards  down 
and  hold  the  king  up. 

This  angered  the  French,  who  said,  very  truthfully,  that 
the  Spaniards  had  as  good  a  right  to  govern  themselves  as 
the  French  had,  and  plots  began  to  be  concocted  for  the 
murder  of  Louis.  I  am  afraid  that  one  of  them  would 
have  accomplished  its  purpose,  but  that,  in  September, 
1824,  after  a  reign  of  nine  years,  he  one  day  died  in  his 
bed. 

He  was  succeeded  by  his  brother  Charles,  who  had  borne 
the  title  of  Count  of  Artois,  and  after  his  coronation  was 
known  as  King  Charles  the  Tenth. 

He  was  sixty-seven  years  old.  In  his  youth  he  had  been 
wild — he  had  led  the  same  vile  life  as  Louis  the  Fifteenth 
and  the  Regent  Orleans.  In  his  old  age  he  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  priests  and  became  very  pious.  Still  he  be- 
gan well — he  took  the  gag  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  news- 
papers, asked  some  of  Napoleon's  generals  to  court,  and 
invited  liberal  men  to  help  him  with  their  counsels.  But 
this  did  not  last  long.  People  noticed  that  Charles  went 
to  mass  every  morning,  which  perhaps  was  not  such  a  bad 
thing;  but  he  also  walked  through  the  streets  in  religious 
processions,  was  anointed  by  an  archbishop,  and  pretended 
to  cure  people  who  had  scrofula  by  touching  them.  He 


380  [1815-1830 

had  newspapers  indicted  for  speaking  ill  of  the  Jesuits, 
and  he  was  surprised  when  they  were  acquitted  by  the 
juries. 

He  began  to  be  very  obstinate  indeed.  He  revived  the 
nunneries,  which  the  Republic  had  abolished,  and  he  set 
at  defiance  a  decree  of  court  declaring  that  Jesuitism  was 
illegal  in  France.  When  he  appeared  at  a  review,  and  the 
people  shouted,  "  Down  with  the  ministers  !  Down  with 
the  Jesuits  !"  he  replied  haughtily,  "  I  came  to  France  to 
receive  homage,  not  a  lecture." 

Which  so  exasperated  the  mob  that  they  followed  the 
carriage  containing  the  ladies  of  the  king's  family,  shout- 
ing, "  Down  with  the  she-Jesuits  !" 

Determined  to  crush  those  who  objected  to  the  power  of 
the  priests,  Charles  dissolved  the  Chamber.  A  riot  follow- 
ing, he  sent  troops  against  the  rioters  and  killed  numbers 
of  them.  Beranger,  the  song-writer,  who  was  the  idol 
of  Paris,  wrote  a  song  quizzing  Charles  ;  he  was  sent  to 
prison  for  nine  months  and  was  fined  ten  thousand  francs, 
which  was  ten  times  more  than  he  had.  On  October  9th, 
1829,  the  king  appointed  a  new  ministry,  consisting  of  men 
who  were  hateful  to  the  French.  Prince  Polignac,  of  the 
Holy  Roman  empire,  was  at  their  head. 

Then  loomed  up  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion  the  man 
of  all  others  whom  the  French  loved — old,  white-haired  La- 
fayette, the  hero  of  the  beginning  of  the  Revolution.  He 
was  afraid  of  nothing,  and  he  said  that  France  ought  not 
to  submit  to  a  bigoted  tyrant,  and  that  the  new  prime- 
minister,  Polignac,  must  go.  The  French  hung  round  him 
when  he  appeared  in  the  streets  and  cheered  him  as  loudly 
as  they  cursed  Polignac.  Charles  was  not  shaken.  When 
the  Chamber  met  he  said, 

"  Should  obstacles  arise  in  my  path,  I  will  find  strength 
to  surmount  them." 

The  Chamber  sent  a  petition  requesting  the  king  to  dis- 
miss Polignac.  He  replied, 

"  I  have  announced  to  you  my  intentions.     My  resolves 


1815-1830] 


381 


are  not  to  be  shaken.     My  ministers  will  explain  iny  pur- 
poses to  you." 

On  July  25th,  by  royal  ordinance,  Charles  suspended  the 
liberty  of  the  press,  dissolved  the  Chamber,  and  reduced 
the  number  of  citizens  who  could  vote  to  a  mere  handful. 
Then  he  went  out  hunting.  Lafayette  started  from  his 
country  place  for  Paris,  and  the  people  of  the  stout  old 
city  got  ready  for  another  tussle  with  a  despot. 


MARQUIS  DE   LAFAYETTE 

At  five  in  the  morning  of  the  28th  the  people  turned  out 
with  such  weapons  as  they  could  get,  and  filled  the  streets. 
They  tore  down  pictures  of  the  king  from  the  signs,  threw 
down  the  white  flag,  pole  and  all,  from  the  City  Hall,  and 
hoisted  the  tricolor  to  the  highest  steeple  of  Notre  Dame. 


382  [1815-1830 

They  seized  a  powder  magazine,  and  the  women  made 
cartridges.  General  Marmont,  Governor  of  Paris,  warned 
the  king  that  a  revolution  was  impending.  Charles  waved 
his  white,  jewelled  hand  in  his  grand  way,  and  bade  him 
brush  away  all  that  rabble  with  his  troops.  Polignac  or- 
dered him  to  open  fire  at  once.  The  fighting  did  indeed 
begin,  under  a  sweltering  sun,  and  several  thousand  people 
were  killed.  By  night  crowds  of  countrymen  came  troop- 
ing into  Paris,  armed  with  old  muskets  and  scythes  and 
pitchforks. 

Marmont  advised  the  king  to  give  way,  but  he  only 
laughed  his  high-bred  laugh  and  sat  down  to  his  usual 
game  of  whist,  while  the  cannon  which  were  being  fired  at 
the  people  shook  the  windows  of  the  room  in  which  he  sat. 

On  the  next  day  several  of  Marmont's  regiments  passed 
over  to  the  side  of  the  revolutionists.  The  mob  took  the 
Tuileries,  and  hoisted  the  tricolor  over  it.  They  set  guards 
over  the  Treasury  and  the  Louvre,  and  when  a  man  was 
found  stealing  he  was  promptly  shot.  At  evening  Lafayette 
came  in  and  took  command  of  the  national  guards.  Late 
that  night  Charles  wrote  that  he  would  dismiss  his  min- 
istry and  revoke  his  ordinances.  Then  he  sat  down  to  his 
whist-table  and  began  leading  trumps. 

It  was  too  late.  On  July  30th  one  of  the  leaders  of  the 
movement  asked  Lafayette, 

"Are  you  willing  to  be  president  of  a  new  French  re- 
public?" 

The  answer  came  quick  and  clear, 

"Certainly  not." 

ft  Then  you  must  help  us  to  make  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
king." 

The  duke  went  to  the  City  Hall  to  meet  him,  and  said 
to  the  people, 

"  You  see  before  you  an  old  national  guardsman  of  1789, 
who  has  come  to  see  his  general." 

People  were  not  quite  satisfied.  The  Orleans  family 
had  a  bad  name.  General  Dubourg  said  to  him, 


1815-1830]  383 

"  If  you  make  promises  and  break  them,  we  shall  know 
how  to  deal  with  you." 

"Sir,"  said  the  duke,  "I  am  an  honest  man,  and  do  not 
need  to  be  reminded  of  my  promises." 

By  this  time  the  king,  who  was  still  at  Rambouillet,  was 
having  trouble  with  his  digestion,  and  was  beginning  to 
think  that  it  was  about  time  to  stop  leading  trumps.  He 
sent  for  Odilon  Barrot,  and  asked  him  in  a  trembling 
voice, 

"What  am  I  to  do?" 

Said  Odilon  Barrot:  "Your  majesty  must  get  out  of 
France  as  fast  as  you  can.  And,  by-the-bye,  I  happen  to 
have  with  me  a  regiment  of  cavalry,  which  will  escort 
your  majesty  to  the  frontier,  for  fear  any  one  should  be 
rude  to  you." 

It  was  so  done.  Charles  was  escorted  to  Cherbourg, 
where  he  took  ship  for  England.  He  settled  at  Edinburgh, 
and  there  spent  the  rest  of  his  life,  going  to  mass  and 
leading  trumps. 

Meanwhile  things  settled  down  at  Paris.  When  some 
one  wanted  to  set  up  the  republic  once  more,  old,  white- 
haired  Lafayette,  who,  as  you  remember,  had  seen  a  good 
deal  of  republics  in  France,  answered  that  the  Duke  of 
Orleans  was  the  best  possible  republic. 

Paris  being  of  this  mind,  and  France  being  of  the  mind 
of  Paris,  the  Duke  of  Orleans  became  king,  under  the  title 
of  Louis  Philippe  the  First.  But  there  were  two  changes 
in  the  kingship.  It  was  stated,  and  affirmed  on  the  coins 
which  were  issued  from  the  mint,  that  Louis  Philippe  was 
king,  not  of  France,  but  of  the  French;  and  that  he  was 
not  king  by  the  grace  of  God,  but  by  the  will  of  the 
French  people. 


CHAPTER  LV 

A    CITIZEN    KING 
A.I).   1830-1848 

Louis  PHILIPPE  was  the  son  of  that  bad  Philippe  Equal- 
ity who  had  so  disgusted  the  Parisians  by  his  shameless- 
ness  that  nobody  was  sorry  when  the  Jacobins  sent  him  to 
the  guillotine.  Equality's  son  was  severely  brought  up  by 
a  strong-minded  woman  named  Madame  de  Genlis.  She 
made  him  get  up  at  six,  winter  and  summer ;  trained  him 
to  sleep  on  bare  boards,  and  would  not  allow  him  to  eat 
anything  but  roast  meat,  bread,  and  milk.  He  was  never 
allowed  to  play,  but  was  taught  carpenter-work,  mason- 
work,  and  the  management  of  horses.  When  he  grew  a 
tall  lad,  he  went  to  the  armies,  and  under  Dumouriez 
fought  for  the  republic  gallantly  and  faithfully. '  When 
the  Jacobins,  after  executing  his  father,  ordered  his  arrest, 
he  fled  from  France,  and  for  twenty-one  years  he  wan- 
dered over  the  world  an  exile,  without  home  or  country  or 
money,  supporting  himself  at  times  by  teaching  school. 
He  was  fifty-seven  years  old  when  he  became  King  of  the 
French,  and  was  thought  by  those  who  knew  him  to  be  an 
honest,  brave,  and  well-meaning  man. 

He  took  an  oath  to  govern  in  conformity  with  a  bill  of 
rights  which  the  French  called  a  charter  It  had  been  first 
put  forth  by  Louis  the  Eighteenth,  and  afterward  accepted 
by  Charles  the  Tenth;  but  as  neither  of  them  had  paid  at- 
tention to  it  after  he  was  crowned,  I  have  not  thought 
it  worth  while  to  mention  it.  Louis  Philippe  did  try  to 
live,  up  to  it.  And  on  the  whole,  though  he  reigned 
through  troublous  times,  and  not  long  ago  it  was  custom- 
ary to  speak  ill  of  him,  I  think  myself  that  he  was  a  fail- 
king,  as  kings  go. 


385 

He  called  himself  a  citizen  king,  dressed  like  an  old 
grocer,  and  walked  the  streets  with  an  old  umbrella,  talk- 
ing to  every  one  he  knew.  He  took  a  rough  common-sense 
view  of  his  duties.  When  some  one  urged  him  to  dismiss 
his  ministers  (you  will  find  that,  even  in  our  day,  the  French 
no  sooner  set  up  a  ministry  than  they  try  to  pull  it  down) 
he  replied, 

"  The  policy  of  my  ministers  !  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean.  There  is  but  one  policy,  and  that  is  my  policy. 
Convince  me  that  I  am  wrong  and  I  will  change  it ;  until 
then  I  will  stick  to  it  though  you  bray  me  in  a  mortar." 


THE   BOULEVARDS  FIFTY  YEAKS  AGO 

The  best  men  in  France — old  General  Lafayette,  the 
banker  Lafitte,  Guizot,  and  Thiers,  and  others  of  equal 
note — thought  he  gave  France  a  very  good  government 
indeed. 

But  the  old  fermentation  still  continued.  Every  few 
months  discontented  people  tried  to  get  up  a  revolution, 
mostly  without  knowing  what  they  really  wanted,  and  the 
king  had  his  hands  full  to  maintain  peace  and  order. 

A  horrible  villain  named  Fieschi,  and  two  or  three  others, 
'25 


386  [1830-1848 

made  an  infernal  machine  of  a  number  of  gun-barrels  set 
side  by  side,  and  fired  them  off  simultaneously  at  the  king, 
who  was  passing  at  the  head  of  a  procession.  Forty  per- 
snos  were  killed,  but  the  king  was  not  hit,  and  when  the 
explosion  was  over  he  said  quietly, 

"  Let  us  go  on,  gentlemen." 

Fieschi  was  arrested  and  betrayed  his  accomplices.  He 
had  been  a  thief  and  bandit ;  he  was  consumed  with  van- 
ity, and  gloried  in  his  deed.  After  he  had  turned  state's 
evidence  against  Pepin,  his  partner  in  crime,  he  was  told 
that  it  was  dinner-time. 

"  Dinner !"  he  cried.  "  I  have  dined  already.  I  have 
dined  off  Pepin's  head." 

He  laughed  while  the  judge  was  pronouncing  his  sen- 
tence. When  he  got  a  chance  he  struck  an  attitude  and 
declaimed, 

"  In  a  few  days  my  head  will  be  severed  from  my  body. 
I  shall  be  dead,  and  my  body  will  rot  in  the  earth.  Yet  I 
have  rendered  a  service.  After  me,  no  more  assassina- 
tions, no  more  disturbances." 

He  was  a  poor  prophet.  Louis  Philippe  was  always 
being  shot  at  by  cranks  to  the  end  of  his  reign. 

It  was  under  his  reign  that  France  conquered  Algeria. 
And  it  was  while  he  was  king  that  the  remains  of  Napo- 
leon were  brought  back  from  St.  Helena,  which,  as  you 
will  see  by  and  by,  was  not  quite  so  grand  a  thing  as  people 
thought  at  the  time.  It  was  also  while  he  was  beginning 
his  management  of  France  that  two  of  the  famous  French- 
men of  the  revolutionary  era  came  to  their  end — Lafayette 
and  Talleyrand. 

I  suppose  that  Lafayette  was  the  most  beautiful  char- 
acter of  that  time.  He  began  life  as  an  officer  in  Wash- 
ington's army  in  1777,  and  ended  it  as  a  private  adviser 
of  Louis  Philippe  in  1834.  During  all  those  fifty-seven 
years,  he  never  did  or  said  anything  that  was  not  wise 
and  manly  and  loyal  and  unselfish.  When  the  brutality 
of  the  Jacobins  forced  him  to  leave  his  army,  he  went  to 


1830-1848]  387 

Austria,  whose  emperor  shut  him  up  in  a  dark  and  damp 
dungeon  at  Olmiitz.  For  a  long  time  no  one  knew  what 
had  become  of  him.  The  Austrians  would  not  tell  where 
he  was.  When  his  plight  was  discovered  President  Wash- 
ington wrote  personally  to  the  Emperor  of  Austria  beg- 
ging for  his  release,  and  Mr.  Fox,  the  famous  member  of 
Parliament  in  England,  wrote  also  ;  the  emperor  would 
not  listen  to  either.  But  one  day  Napoleon  took  the 
matter  in  hand,  and  in  his  short,  sharp,  stern  way  sent  his 
compliments  to  the  emperor,  and  would  he  be  so  kind  as 
to  set  Lafayette  at  liberty,  and  pretty  quickly  too?  Where- 
upon the  prison  doors  flew  open,  and  the  captive  walked 
out  into  the  open  air  after  five  years  of  dungeon  life.  He 
was  grateful  to  his  liberator,  but  his  principle  was  so  high 
that  he  refused  to  serve  in  the  imperial  army. 

Talleyrand  was  very  different.  He  was  a  lame  man, 
and  was  a  prince,  a  priest,  a  wit,  and  in  his  private  life  a 
reprobate.  Queen  Marie  Antoinette,  Mirabeau,  Robes- 
pierre, Napoleon,  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  Louis  the  Eigh- 
teenth, Charles  the  Tenth,  Louis  Philippe,  and  Thiers,  in 
their  turn,  all  leaned  on  him  for  advice.  He  knew  every- 
body and  everything,  cared  for  nobody,  respected  nobody; 
but  was  feared  by  everybody,  and  was  prodigiously  wise 
and  far-seeing.  There  is  a  curious  story  about  his  last 
end.  When  he  died  it  was  resolved  to  embalm  him,  and 
to  do  so,  as  you  know,  it  was  necessary  to  remove  the  soft 
parts  of  the  body,  including  the  brain.  When  this  had 
been  done,  the  embalmer  carried  off  the  shell  of  Talley- 
rand, and  his  assistants  buried  the  inside,  which  had  been 
taken  out.  By  some  oversight,  the  brain  was  left  where  it 
had  been  placed.  A  servant  who  entered  the  room  found 
this  grewsome  and  bloody  object  on  the  table,  and,  not 
dreaming  what  it  was,  swept  it  into  a  bucket,  carried  it 
downstairs,  and  threw  it  into  a  gutter.  Thus  the  brain 
which  had  swayed  Europe  and  moulded  politics  for  fifty 
years  finally  fetched  up  in  the  slops  of  a  filthy  drain. 

After  Louis  Philippe  had  been  some  years  on  the  throne 


388  [1830-1848 

the  people  began  to  clamor  for  a  larger  share  in  the  gov- 
ernment, while  the  king  thought  they  had  too  large  a  share 
already.  He  said, 

"  I  will  not  be  caught  as  Charles  the  Tenth  was  ;  I  will 
take  precautions  and  defend  myself  better." 

On  February  22d,  1848,  the  streets  of  Paris  filled  with 
people,  and  barricades  began  to  lift  their  heads.  The  king 
had  thirty  thousand  soldiers  at  his  command,  and  in  the 
afternoon  he  called  out  the  national  guards  or  militia. 
They  refused  to  stir.  The  king  offered  to  sacrifice  his 
ministry ;  the  leader  of  the  people  said  it  was  too  late  for 
that.  At  about  nine  in  the  evening  a  regiment  opened 
fire  on  the  crowd  and  killed  a  hundred  men.  The  spark 
kindled  a  blaze.  From  eleven  o'clock  till  midnight  every 
church-bell  rang  the  alarm. 

When  next  morning  dawned  fifteen  hundred  barricades, 
made  of  paving-stones,  had  been  erected,  some  of  them  as 
high  as  the  second  story  of  the  houses,  and  every  regiment 
was  besieged  where  it  stood. 

Thoroughly  frightened  at  last,  the  king  agreed  to  ab- 
dicate. But  it  was  too  late  even  for  that.  Musketry  fire 
all  round  the  Tuileries  drowned  the  sound  of  voices.  The 
mob  was  drawing  nearer  and  nearer.  Through  the  crowd, 
Cremieux,  a  lawyer,  forced  his  way,  and  said  to  the  king, 

"  Sire,  you  must  leave  Paris  !" 

"Without  answering  a  word,  Louis  Philippe  threw  off 
his  uniform  and  his  general's  hat,  put  on  a  frock-coat  and 
a  round  hat,  and  hurried  through  the  Tuileries  to  a  gate 
where  four  carriages  should  have  been  waiting.  They 
were  not  there  ;  the  mob  had  seized  and  burned  them.  A 
carriage  coming  up  with  the  king's  daughters-in-law  and 
their  children  in  it,  Louis  Philippe  stepped  up  and  called, 

"  Get  out,  all  of  you  !" 

He  got  in  himself  with  his  wife,  and  bade  the  coachman 
drive  to  Versailles.  On  the  way  he  threw  off  his  wig,  and 
put  on  a  skull-cap  which  came  down  to  his  eyes.  At  Ver- 
sailles he  got  another  carriage,  and  drove  on  through  the 


1830-1848]  389 

night ;  toward  morning  he  stopped  at  a  farm-house.  A 
fire  was  lit  for  him  in  the  kitchen.  He  said, 

"  I  am  very  cold  ;  I  am  very  hungry." 

Said  the  farmer,  "  Would  you  like  some  onion  soup  ?" 

"Very  much  indeed." 

And  he  ate  heartily. 

He  was  in  an  agony  lest  the  revolutionists  should  catch 
him.  They  were  in  an  equal  agony  lest  he  should  be 
caught.  The}7  sent  trusty  messengers  to  guard  him  with- 
out his  knowledge;  they  sent  him  money.  They  never  let 
him  out  of  the  sight  of  their  men  until  they  got  him  safely 
on  board  a  steamer,  which  hoisted  anchor  at  once  (the  cap- 
tain had  his  instructions)  and  landed  him  next  morning 
in  England.  The  men  who  had  overthrown  him  breathed 
more  freely  when  they  knew  that  he  was  safe. 


CHAPTER  LVI 

ANOTHER   REPUBLIC 

A.D.  1848-1852 

WHEX  Louis  Philippe  left  there  was  no  government  in 
France.  To  carry  on  the  public  business  a  few  of  the 
leading  republicans  formed  themselves  into  a  provisional 
government ;  they  wei'e  the  poet  Lamartine,  fitienne  Ara- 
go,  Gamier-Pages,  Marie,  who  were  reasonable  republicans; 
Ledru-Rollin  and  Louis  Blanc,  who  were  inclined  to  so- 
cialism; and  a  labor-agitator  named  Albert.  The  chief 
talker  of  the  party  was  Lamartine,  who  delivered  beauti- 
ful speeches  which  meant  nothing;  the  work  of  restoring 
order  out  of  the  prevailing  confusion  fell  chiefly  to  Arago, 
Garnier-Pages,  and  Marie. 

The  trouble  of  the  hour  was  the  vast  number  of  men 
who  had  been  thrown  out  of  work  by  the  disturbances  at 
the  close  of  Louis  Philippe's  reign  and  by  the  revolution 
which  ensued.  These  people  threatened  to  set  the  guillo- 
tine going  again  if  they  could  not  find  work,  and  Louis 
Blanc,  the  man  Albert,  and  others  pretended  to  have  dis- 
covered that  the  government  owed  every  man  work,  as 
though  any  state  could  live  by  taking  money  out  of  one 
pocket  and  putting  it  into  another.  The  provisional  gov- 
ernment, however,  did  not  feel  strong  enough  to  engage  in 
a  conflict  with  this  vast,  noisy  mob  ;  it  enrolled  several 
thousand  of  them  in  a  guard  called  the  Guard  Mobile,  and 
it  opened  government  factories  at  which  other  thousands 
were  employed  in  making  things  which  were  not  wanted. 

This  plan,  of  course,  could  not  work  long.  The  govern- 
ment itself  was  in  straits  for  money,  and  was  in  no  posi- 
tion to  support  people  by  charity.  In  a  short  while  the 


1848-1862]  39  ! 

government  factories  had  to  be  closed,  and  the  workmen 
were  thrown  on  the  street.  They  declared  that  they  would 
start  another  revolution,  and  that  property  should  be  taken 
from  those  who  owned  it  and  divided  among  those  who 
had  nothing,  in  order  that  all  should  be  equal.  When 
this  nonsense  began  to  be  talked  openly,  the  provisional 
government  knew  that  it  must  fight  or  surrender.  And, 
at  the  same  time,  the  workmen  were  as  good  as  their  word  ; 
they  made  ready  for  the  fray. 

The  government  appointed  to  the  command  of  its  army 
a  tried  and  valiant  soldier  named  Cavaignac,  who  was  a 
sincere  republican  and  a  man  of  sense  and  honor.  The 
workmen  were  led  by  Louis  Blanc,  who  was  a  visionary  ; 
Barbes,  who  was  a  murderer ;  Raspail,  who  was  a  crank 
druggist ;  and  Blanqui,  who  had  spent  his  life  in  prison  and 
had  become  paralyzed  in  his  legs.  These  people  did  not 
know  what  they  wanted  ;  they  said  that  there  were  a  hun- 
dred thousand  men  in  Paris  who  had  no  work  and  no  bread, 
and  that  when  such  was  the  case  something  must  be  wrong. 

You  know  that  it  is  no  part  of  the  business  of  any 
government  to  feed  its  people,  and  that  when  riots  and 
disturbances  occur  daily,  industry  stops  and  workmen  go 
hungry.  The  Paris  workmen  were  complaining  of  the 
consequences  of  their  own  acts.  If  they  had  been  less 
disorderly,  they  would  have  more  easily  found  work.  But 
the  poor,  hungry  fellows  were  in  an  angry  mood,  and 
demagogues — who  wanted  to  pull  everything  down  in  the 
hope  of  finding  plunder  in  the  ruins — persuaded  them  that 
they  would  gain  by  rising  in  arms.  Accordingly,  on  June 
23d  and  24th,  four  months  after  the  establishment  of  the 
provisional  government,  they  began  to  build  barricades 
once  more.  Cavaignac  sadly  but  resolutely  ordered  out 
his  troops. 

On  June  the  26th  the  battle  was  over,  and  the  insur- 
gents were  crushed.  It  had  not  been  done  without  sacri- 
fice of  life.  About  two  thousand  of  the  workmen  had  been 
killed,  as  many  wounded,  and  some  eleven  thousand  made 


392  [1848-1852 

prisoners  ;  and  they  on  their  side  had  killed  a  number  of 
generals  and  leading  men,  and  worse  than  all,  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Paris,  who  had  not  an  enemy  in  the  world,  and 
was  beloved  by  every  one  in  Paris.  The  good  old  priest 
had  gone  to  a  barricade  to  appeal  to  the  workmen  ;  some 
felon  hand  aimed  a  shot  at  him  from  a  window,  and  he 
fell  with  his  gray  hair  dabbled  with  blood. 

When  the  rebellion  was  ended  Cavaignac  laid  down  his 
power  and  proposed  to  return  to  private  life,  but  the  pro- 
visional government  insisted  on  his  retaining  control  of 
affairs  for  a  time.  An  Assembly  had  been  elected,  and  it 
was  engaged  in  framing  a  new  constitution  for  France. 
When  the  work  was  completed,  it  was  submitted  to  the 
people  and  accepted. 

An  election  for  president  was  held  on  December  llth, 
and,  by  a  large  majority,  Louis  Napoleon  Bonaparte  was 
elected  president  over  Cavaignac,  whom  the  workmen 
could  not  forgive  for  his  victory  over  their  "brothers." 
Of  Louis  Napoleon  you  will  hear  much  in  the  next  chapter  ; 
here  it  may  be  enough  to  say  that  when  he  was  sworn  in 
he  offered  his  hand  to  Cavaignac,  who  turned  his  back  and 
walked  away.  Cavaignac  was  a  good  judge  of  men. 

Before  you  pass  to  the  reign  of  Louis  Napoleon,  you  must 
give  credit  to  the  kings  who  governed  France  between 
1815  and  1850  for  the  eminent  writers  who  flourished  in 
their  reigns.  First  among  these  was  Victor  Hugo,  equally 
famous  as  a  poet,  philosopher,  and  writer  of  novels ;  then, 
when  you  learn  French,  you  will  read  with  delight  the 
poems  of  Lamartine  and  Alfred  de  Musset ;  among  his- 
torians, you  will  enjoy  Guizot,  Thiers,  Thierry  ;  among 
philosophers,  Comte,  St.  Simon,  Lamennais  ;  among  novel- 
writers,  Balzac,  Dumas  the  elder,  Cherbuliez,  Alfred  de 
Vigny,  Octave  Feuillet,  Zola,  and  others  ;  among  men  of 
science,  Ampere,  Gay  de  Lussac,  Biot,  Champollion,  Pois- 
son.  At  no  time  in  French  history  was  the  French  mind 
more  active  or  more  fertile  than  during  the  reign  of  Louis 
Philippe,  and  I  cannot  think  that  a  reign  is  inglorious  of 
which  so  much  can  be  said. 


LOUIS  NAPOLEON  AS  A  YOUNG  OFFICER 


CHAPTER  LVII 

THE    SECOND    EMPIRE 
.  A.D.  1852-1871 

Louis  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE  was  the  son  of  Louis 
Bonaparte,  at  one  time  King  of  Holland,  and  of  his  wife 
Hortense  Beauharnais,  daughter  of  the  Empress  Josephine. 
He  was  born  in  1808. 

After  he  reached  manhood  he  lived  much  in  England, 
where  people  thought  meanly  of  him.  He  was  regarded 
as  a  dreamer  and  a  crank.  He  used  to  say  that  he  was 
predestined  to  succeed  his  uncle  as  emperor  of  the  French, 
and,  as  at  the  time  he  could  not  pay  his  tailor,  people 
laughed  at  him.  They  laughed  the  more  when  he  tried  to 
get  up  an  insurrection  at  Strasburg,  and  was  promptly  ar- 
rested and  sent  out  of  France  in  contemptuous  pity ;  and 
when  he  repeated  his  attempt  at  Boulogne — where  he  land- 
ed with  a  tame  eagle  in  his  hand,  to  remind  people  of  the 
eagle  which  Napoleon's  soldiers  carried  on  their  standard 
•. — he  was  caught  again  and  locked  up  in  a  prison  at  Ham, 


394  [1852-1871 

Even  when  he  made  his  escape  in  the  disguise  of  a  car- 
penter and  turned  up  at  Paris,  after  the  overthrow  of 
Louis  Philippe,  nobody  took  him  seriously.  It  was  pro- 
posed to  expel  him  from  France,  but  when  he  made  a 
speech  in  his  own  defence,  the  deputy  who  had  proposed 
the  expulsion  withdrew  his  motion,  saying  that  he  had 
once  imagined  the  gentleman  to  be  dangerous,  but  now, 
having  heard  him,  he  felt  satisfied  he  was  harmless. 

This  was  the  man  who,  on  December  llth,  1848,  became 
President  of  France.  He  had  risen  to  that  rank  through 
the  power  of  money  and  intrigue,  and  through  a  lingering 
fondness  among  the  French  for  the  memory  of  Napoleon, 
which  the  importation  of  his  remains  from  St.  Helena  had 
helped  to  foster. 

The  new  president  had  hardly  got  seated  in  the  presi- 
dential chair  when  he  began  a  duel  with  the  Chamber, 
which  was  evidently  to  be  a  fight  to  a  finish.  Each  side 
accused  the  other  of  plotting  treason.  On  one  side  was 
Louis  Napoleon,  cold,  calculating,  silent  as  the  grave,  bent 
on  treading  in  his  uncle's  footsteps  ;  on  the  other  were  the 
members  of  the  Chamber,  loyal,  honest,  unselfish,  loud- 
spoken,  and  boisterous,  having  nothing  to  conceal.  Napo- 
leon began  by  dismissing  from  his  cabinet  three  ministers 
who  were  known  to  be  loyal  to  the  republic,  and  replacing 
them  by  General  St.  Arnaud,  De  Morny,  and  Maupas,  three 
unprincipled  and  resolute  knaves,  upon  whom  he  could 
rely  for  any  deed  of  darkness.  St.  Arnaud  was  set  over 
the  army  ;  he  told  the  soldiers  that  the  new  Napoleon 
would  be  as  liberal  to  them  as  the  old  Napoleon  had  been  ; 
Maupas  was  set  over  the  police,  and  De  Morny  looked  out 
for  things  generally.  Other  friends  of  Napoleon  went 
about  calling  the  Assembly  a  nest  of  demagogues  who  were 
plotting  a  new  revolution.  This  frightened  business-men 
and  working-men. 

On  the  evening  of  December  1st,  1851,  a  party  was 
given  at  the  palace  of  the  Elys6e,  where  the  president 
lived.  All  Paris  waa  there  in  diamonds  and  laces  and 


CLEAKING   THE  PAKIS  STREETS 

smiles.  One  lady,  who  stole  away  for  an  hour  to  visit  the 
opera,  met  De  Morny  there,  and  said  to  him, 

"  I  hear  that  there  is  to  be  a  clean  sweep  pretty  soon." 

"  Indeed,  madame  ?"  replied  De  Morny  ;  "  if  there  is 
any  sweeping  done,  I  hope  I  will  be  on  the  side  of  the  broom- 
handle." 

At  midnight,  after  the  guests  had  gone  home,  Louis 
Napoleon,  De  Morny,  St.  Arnaud,  and  Maupas  met  in  an 
inner  room  of  the  palace.  The  president  sat  close  to  the 
fire,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  face  in  his  hands. 
He  said  never  a  word.  The  others  talked  violently  and 
loudly;  they  only  spoke  to  the  president  when  they  wanted 
money  from  him  to  buy  the  colonels  of  certain  regiments. 

At  two  that  morning  the  printers  of  the  Moniteur,  each 
printer  with  two  policemen  standing  over  him,  set  up  a 
proclamation  from  Louis  Napoleon,  abolishing  the  constitu- 


396  [1852-1871 

tion,  dissolving  the  Chambers,  declaring  martial  law,  and 
proposing  to  the  people  to  elect  their  chief  magistrate  for 
ten  years.  When  the  winter  day  broke,  this  proclamation 
was  found  posted  all  over  the  walls  of  Paris.  At  four  that 
morning,  Thiers,  Cavaignac,  Changarnier,  Lamoriciere,  and 
eighteen  other  leading  republicans  whom  the  people  trust- 
ed, were  seized  in  their  beds  and  carried  off  to  prison. 
With  the  first  glimmer  of  daylight  the  .other  members  of 
the  Chamber  met,  and  declared  that  Louis  Napoleon  had 
broken  his  oath  and  forfeited  his  office ;  whereupon  they 
were  all  arrested  by  soldiers,  and  locked  up  with  Thiers 
and  his  friends.  This  is  called  the  Coup  d'Etat. 

On  the  following  morning  the  people — including  most 
of  those  who  had  voted  for  Louis  Napoleon  in  preference 
to  Cavaignac — fell  to  building  barricades  in  the  old  way. 
This  was  what  Louis  Napoleon  wanted.  He  gathered  fifty 
thousand  soldiers,  flung  them  on  the  barricaders,  and  slaugh- 
tered them  mercilessly.  The  work  of  slaughter  went  on  all 
night.  When  day  broke  on  the  5th,  the  pavements  of  Paris 
were  soaked  in  blood,  corpses  lay  stretched  out  in  rows, 
and  in  one  cemetery,  where  three  hundred  and  fifty  un- 
known men  were  buried,  their  heads  were  left  sticking  out 
of  the  ground,  so  that  their  friends  could  recognize  them. 
What  was  done  in  Paris  was  done  in  every  town  in  France 
where  the  Coup  d'Etat  was  opposed. 

France,  cowed  and  trembling,  quickly  voted  that  the 
Coup  d'Etat  was  a  divine  blessing,  and  prepared  for  the 
next  act  in  the  drama.  It  was  not  long  delayed. 

In  October,  1852,  Louis  Napoleon  spoke  as  follows  at 
Bordeaux : 

"France  seems  to  be  returning  to  the  empire.  That  is 
because  the  empire  is  peace,  and  France  desires  peace." 

One  month  afterward  the  Senate,  which  Louis  Napoleon 
had  appointed,  drew  up  an  address  proposing  to  abolish 
the  republic  and  restore  the  empire ;  the  question  being 
submitted  to  the  people,  they  voted  by  a  large  majority 
for  the  empire;  and  on  December  2d,  1852,  Louis 


1852-1871]  397 

leon  was  crowned  emperor  with  the  title  of  Napoleon  the 
Third,  the  poor  boy  who  had  died  at  Vienna  being  ac- 
counted Napoleon  the  Second. 

In  order  to  found  a  dynasty,  he  married ;  his  wife  was 
beautiful  and  bright,  a  Spanish  lady,  whose  name  was 
Eugenie  of  Montijo.  Next  year  this  lady  gave  him  a  son, 
who  grew  up  to  be  a  fine,  manly  lad.  He  was  educated  in 
England,  and  when  the  English  went  to  war  with  the 
Zulus  of  South  Africa,  he  joined  their  army  and  was  killed 
just  as  his  manhood  was  beginning. 

During  the  early  years  of  his  reign  Napoleon  the  Third 
labored  faithfully  to  make  France  prosperous  and  Paris 
beautiful.  Millions  were  spent  in  pulling  down  the  old 
rookeries  where  revolutions  had  been  hatched,  and  cutting 
splendid  boulevards  through  their  sites.  Industries  of  all 
kinds  were  encouraged,  and,  as  he  was  a  wise  statesman, 
he  established  free  trade  with  England  and  tried  to  estab- 
lish it  with  other  countries.  He  promoted  enterprise,  and 
under  him  speculation  became  active.  Vast  fortunes  were 
made,  and  spent  lavishly ;  everybody  in  France  appeared 
to  be  well  off ;  and,  though  the  national  and  city  debts 
were  growing,  everybody  was  satisfied,  and  the  empire  was 
pronounced  to  be  an  excellent  thing. 

Being  a  Bonaparte,  however,  and  owing  much  to  the 
army,  he  could  not  help  plunging  into  wars.  His  first 
war  was  with  Russia  and  was  undertaken  jointly  with 
England.  There  was  no  reasonable  ground  for  the  war ; 
but  it  lasted  a  couple  of  years,  cost  numbers  of  lives,  and 
ended  in  the  capture  and  destruction  of  the  chief  seaport 
and  arsenal  of  south  Russia — Sebastopol. 

Then  he  made  war  upon  Austria — perhaps  to  redeem  a 
promise  he  had  made  to  Mazzini,  when  he  was  at  Ham,  to 
establish  a  kingdom  for  Italy;  he  took  the  command  of  his 
armies  himself,  won  two  splendid  victories  at  Magenta  and 
Solferino,  and  freed  all  Italy,  except  Venice,  from  the  Aus- 
trian yoke.  So  here  was  more  glory,  and  people  began  to 
say  that  the  Third  Napoleon  was  as  brilliant  a  soldier  as 
the  First. 


398  [1852-1871 

Then  he  turned  on  China,  which  he  invaded  jointly  with 
the  English,  marched  to  Pekin,  looted  and  burned  the  em- 
peror's palace,  and  the  French  again  said  that  wherever 
his  eagles  went  victory  perched  upon  their  crest. 

But  this  was  rather  a  mistake,  as  they  found  out  when, 
shortly  afterward,  the  emperor  made  war  upon  Mexico. 
Our  civil  war  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  Mr.  Lincoln  and 
the  people  of  the  North  had  no  love  for  Napoleon,  because 
they  knew  that  he  had  been  in  his  heart  in  favor  of  the 
rebels,  and  that  if  it  had  depended  on  him  the  Union  would 
have  been  destroyed.  When  Richmond  fell  Mr.  Seward 
wrote  a  short,  sharp  letter  to  Paris,  advising  the  emperor 
to  take  his  troops  out  of  Mexico  by  the  shortest  available 
road  ;  and,  by  way  of  giving  point  to  the  letter,  Mr.  Lin- 
coln ordered  General  Sherman  to  move  with  fifty  thousand 
men  to  the  bank  of  the  Rio  Grande.  Marshal  Bazaine, 
who  commanded  the  French  in  Mexico,  did  not  wait  to  be 
introduced  to  General  Sherman  ;  he  re-embarked  his  army 
at  once  and  returned  to  France.  His  return  gave  a  shock 
to  the  French  ;  they  began  to  ask  whether  it  was  possible 
the  emperor  was  not  the  all-conquering  hero  they  had  ac- 
counted him.  The  very  men  who  had  shouted  loudest  in 
praise  of  the  empire  now  began  to  find  a  good  deal  of  fault 
with  it. 

The  emperor  bowed  to  the  storm  and  began  to  make 
concessions  to  the  people.  He  let  them  have  a  little  share 
in  managing  the  government  and  let  the  press  speak  a  little 
more  freely.  He  said  that  he  had  been  much  misunder- 
stood— that  he  had  been  all  along  in  favor  of  giving  the 
fullest  liberty  to  the  French,  and  that  he  had  merely  taken 
power  into  his  own  hands  to  distribute  it  to  the  people  in 
the  right  doses  and  at  the  right  time. 

But  he  soon  had  other  concerns  to  occupy  his  mind. 
France  and  Prussia  were  drifting  into  war.  There  was  a 
shallow  pretext — a  dispute  about  the  selection  of  a  prince 
of  the  Hohenzollern  family  to  be  King  of  Spain.  France 
protested  against  the  Hohenzollern,  and  the  King  of  Prus- 


NAPOLEON  IH 


sia  required  him  to  decline  the  throne,  but  France  was  not 
satisfied.  The  fact  was,  the  people  of  both  countries  hated 
each  other  and  were  eager  for  the  fray — the  French,  be- 
cause they  thought  they  saw  in  the  future  visions  of  glory 
and  conquest;  the  Prussians,  because  they  remembered 
their  defeats  sixty  years  before  and  had  forgotten  the 
vengeance  they  took  for  them.  Chancellor  Bismarck,  prime- 
minister  of  Prussia,  had  foreseen  the  war  for  two  years  or 
more  and  had  been  preparing  for  it.  In  France,  I  am 
sorry  to  say  that  the  mad  rage  of  the  people  for  an  unpro- 
voked war  was  fanned  by  a  woman — the  Empress  Eugenie. 

She  went  about  saying, 

"  It  is  my  war  !" 

And  when  mobs  passed  her  windows  shouting  "  On  to 


400  [1852-1871 

Berlin  !"  she  clapped  her  hands.  She  was  a  good  woman, 
but  she  did  France  a  terrible  mischief.  What  she  did  not 
know  was,  that  Germany  was  ready  and  France  was  not. 
The  army  on  which  she  and  the  emperor  had  counted  ex- 
isted only  on  paper.  The  generals  had  drawn  pay  for 
troops  who  did  not  exist  in  the  flesh. 

War  was  declared  on  July  19th,  1870.  By  July  31st 
Prussia  had  half  a  million  of  men  on  the  Rhine.  The  Em- 
peror Napoleon  never  had  half  as  many  in  one  spot.  He 
issued  a  proclamation  in  which  he  said  : 

"  Soldiers  !  I  am  about  to  place  myself  at  your  head,  to 
defend  the  honor  and  soil  of  the  country.  Whatever  road 
we  take  beyond  our  frontiers,  we  shall  find  glorious  traces 
of  our  fathers.  The  fate  of  liberty  and  civilization  de- 
pends upon  our  success." 

Von  Moltke,  the  German  general,  issued  no  proclama- 
tion, but  he  said  to  the  King  of  Prussia, 

"  If  Napoleon  does  not  cross  the  Rhine  in  a  fortnight 
he  will  never  cross  it,  except  as  a  prisoner." 

There  was  a  fight  early  in  August  at  Weissenberg,  an- 
other at  Worth,  another  at  Saarbruch,  another  at  Forbach  ; 
at  each  of  these  the  Germans  were  two  to  one,  and  the 
French  were  beaten.  The  latter  fell  back,  and  were  again 
attacked  at  Gravelotte,  and  one  of  their  two  armies,  under 
Bazaine,  was  driven  into  Metz,  where  it  was  bottled  up 
and  took  no  further  part  in  the  war.  The  other  array, 
which  was  commanded  by  MacMahon  and  with  which  the 
emperor  was  serving,  was  pushed  into  Sedan,  was  surround- 
ed there  and  compelled  to  surrender. 

On  September  2d  an  officer  brought  a  letter  from  the 
emperor  to  the  King  of  Prussia,  which  began  with  the 
words, 

"  Having  been  unable  to  die  at  the  head  of  my  troops,  I 
give  up  my  sword  to  your  majesty." 

Every  man  of  MacMahon's  army,  including  the  emperor 
himself,  became  a  prisoner  and  was  sent  into  Germany.  I 
think  that,  while  you  must  blame  the  emperor  for  having 


1852-1871]  401 

undertaken  an  unjust  war,  and  while  you  must  regard  him 
as  insincere  and  an  enemy  of  freedom,  you  would  have 
been  sorry  for  him  then.  He  had  never  liked  the  war. 
He  had  been  driven  into  it  by  the  empress  and  the  Paris 
mob.  He  had  never  felt  sure  of  victory.  He  was  suffer- 
ing from  a  dreadful  disease,  which  gave  him  constant  and 
acute  agony  and  of  which  he  afterward  died.  There  is  a 
picture  of  his  meeting  with  the  King  of  Prussia,  in  which 
the  German,  tall  and  erect,  with  his  fierce  moustache  and 
his  scowling  eyes,  frowns  upon  the  emperor,  who  looks 
like  a  shrunken  old  man,  bent  from  pain  and  grief,  and 
with  a  face  distorted  by  suffering.  I  think  it  is  a  very 
sad  picture. 

When  the  news  of  the  capture  of  the  emperor  reached 
Paris  the  republic  was  again  proclaimed  ;  but  the  Ger- 
man armies  besieged  the  place,  and  took  it  after  a  four 
months'  siege,  during  which  the  people  endured  such  mis- 
ery from  famine  that  they  not  only  ate  all  the  horses  in  the 
city,  but  also  the  wild  animals  in  the  Garden  of  Plants. 
Peace  was  made  at  last,  the  Germans  went  home,  and  after 
a  long  struggle  a  new  republic  was  founded. 


CHAPTER  LVIII 
THE   THIRD   REPUBLIC 

A.D.  1871-1914 

THE  Third  Republic  had  been  established,  with  the  great 
French  statesman  Thiers  as  its  first  president,  but  there  were 
still  many  disputed  matters  to  be  settled.  The  Germans  had 
imposed  very  severe  terms  upon  France  in  the  treaty  of  peace 
signed  at  Versailles.  The  two  provinces  of  Alsace  and  Lor- 
raine, comprising  some  of  the  most  important  manufacturing 
districts  in  the  country,  were  to  become  the  absolute  property 
of  the  new  German  Empire.  Their  inhabitants  had  but  one 
choice  in  the  matter — to  emigrate  or  to  accept  German  na- 
tionality. Their  very  language  must  be  given  up,  since  it  was 
forbidden  to  teach  French  in  any  of  the  public  schools  of  Alsace- 
Lorraine.  In  addition  to  the  loss  of  these  two  rich  provinces 
a  war  indemnity  of  5,000,000,000  francs,  or  one  billion  dol- 
lars, was  imposed,  and  the  German  army  of  occupation  would 
remain  in  France  until  the  last  centime  was  paid. 

Gambetta,  Freycinet,  and  Thiers  had  protested  against 
these  severe  conditions  hi  the  peace  treaty,  but  the  Germans 
were  the  victors  and  they  would  not  abate  one  jot  or  tittle  of 
their  demands.  The  French  leaders  had  to  submit,  but  when 
the  people  of  Paris  learned  of  the  humiliations  that  had  been 
placed  upon  them  they  were  so  angry  that  a  revolution  broke 
out  against  the  government.  The  insurrection  began  on 
March  18,  1871,  and  lasted  until  the  end  of  May.  Again 
barricades  were  set  up  in  the  streets  and  the  gutters  ran  red 
with  blood.  The  Commune,  as  the  insurrectionists  styled 
themselves,  managed  to  keep  the  upper  hand  for  over  two 
months,  and  poor  Paris  had  to  endure  a  second  Reign  of  Terror. 
True,  there  was  no  actual  guillotine  set  up  in  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde,  but  over  thirty  thousand  persons  perished  in  the 


1871-19141 


403 


fighting  or  were  executed  under  a  mockery  of  judicial  procedure. 
But  finally  the  soldiers  of  the  Republic  signally  defeated  the 
rabble  of  thieves,  riffraff,  crooks,  criminals,  and  "apaches" 
that  made  up  the  bulk  of  the  Commune,  and  law  and  order 
were  restored. 

A  great  task  of  readjustment  still  remained  to  be  accom- 
plished, but  the  French  people  were  equal  to  it.  In  less  than 
five  months  they  had  paid  off,  from  their  personal  savings 
hidden  in  old  stockings  and  teapots,  the  enormous  war  in- 
demnity of  a  billion  dollars.  Remember,  too,  that  this  was 
nearly  fifty  years  ago,  when  the  purchasing  power  of  money 
was  much  greater  than  it  is  to-day.  The  indemnity  was  paid 
to  Germany  in  bright  new  twenty-franc  pieces,  and  the  story 
goes  that  these  actual  coins  were  held  by  Germany  until 
August,  1914,  as  an  emergency  war  chest.  The  treasure  was 
packed  in  wooden  boxes  and  kept  in  a  mediaeval  stronghold 
called  the  Julius  Tower,  a  part  of  the  citadel  of  Spandau,  a 
fortified  town  at  the  confluence  of  the  Havel  and  Spree  rivers. 
Of  course  a  strong  guard  of  soldiers  was  kept  in  the  fortress 
to  protect  the  "war  chest,"  and  there  the  money  lay,  doing 
nobody  any  good,  until  the  outbreak  of  the  great  world  war. 
Presumably,  it  has  long  since  been  used  up,  for  even  a  billion 
dollars  does  not  last  long  under  the  vast  daily  expenditures  of 
modern  warfare. 

With  the  payment  of  the  indemnity  the  German  army  of 
occupation  was  withdrawn,  in  September,  1872,  and  France 
was  again  free  to  take  up  the  pursuits  of  peace.  So  industrious 
and  thrifty  are  the  French,  by  nature  and  by  training,  that  the 
financial  readjustment  was  accomplished  in  a  marvellously  short 
time.  A  government  loan  launched  after  the  payment  of  the 
indemnity,  and  the  second  since  the  conclusion  of  the  war,  was 
oversubscribed  fourteen  times.  Nothing  so  remarkable  hi  the 
way  of  recuperation  from  a  great  national  disaster  had  ever 
before  been  known,  and  the  whole  world  looked  on  in  wonder. 
But  although  material  prosperity  had  returned,  the  pride  and 
honor  of  France  had  been  deeply  wounded,  and  there  were 
certain  things  that  a  true  Frenchman  could  never  forget.  Chief 
among  these  were  the  two  lost  provinces — Alsace  and  Lor- 


404  [1871-1914 

raine.  With  the  sword  Germany  had  wrested  them  away 
from  France,  and  with  the  sword  she  continued  to  hold  them. 
But  some  day  they  must  come  back  to  France,  for  they  were 
part  of  her  national  life.  In  the  great  square  of  the  Place  de 
la  Concorde  in  Paris  there  are  a  number  of  heroic  statues 
typifying  the  principal  cities  of  France.  Conspicuous  among 
them  stood  the  statue  named  for  the  city  of  Strasburg  in 
Alsace.  But  the  Germans  now  possessed  Strasburg;  it  was 
no  longer  a  French  city.  And  yet  the  Parisians  refused  to 
take  down  or  destroy  the  statue.  Instead,  they  draped  it  with 
crepe,  and  on  all  national  holidays  fresh  funeral  wreaths  were 
heaped  about  its  pedestal  and  base.  Thousands  of  visiting 
Americans  in  the  last  half-century  have  gone  to  see  the  Stras- 
burg statue,  beautiful  and  pathetic  in  its  garb  of  mourning. 
But  those  days  of  humiliation  and  sorrow  are  now  forever 
ended.  The  funeral  wreaths  have  given  place  to  garlands  of 
fresh  flowers;  the  statue  has  resumed  her  rightful  place  among 
her  sister  cities;  Strasburg  has  been  redeemed,  and  once 
again  the  tricolor  floats  from  the  tower  of  its  wonderful  old 
Gothic  cathedral.  All  things  come  to  him  who  waits. 

Yes,  France  had  survived  the  shock  of  war  and  the  loss  of 
her  provinces,  and  the  Third  Republic  seemed  destined  to 
endure.  It  took  nearly  four  years  to  formulate  the  new  con- 
stitution, but  at  last,  in  1875,  it  was  formally  accepted  by  the 
country.  In  1878  Paris  held  a  brilliant  Universal  Exhibition, 
or  fair,  in  which  all  the  nations  of  Europe,  and  indeed  of  the 
world,  participated.  To  commemorate  the  event  the  imposing 
Palace  of  the  Trocade"ro  was  built.  It  is  approached  by  a 
broad  and  splendid  street,  formerly  called  the  Avenue  du  Tro- 
cade"ro,  but  now  renamed  the  Avenue  du  President  Wilson,  as 
a  compliment  to  the  United  States,  upon  our  entrance  into  the 
world  war. 

Eleven  years  later,  in  1889,  Paris  was  again  the  hostess  for 
a  World's  Fair.  The  outstanding  feature  of  this  exhibition 
was  the  Eiffel  Tower,  designed  by  French  engineers  to  be  the 
tallest  structure  in  the  world,  and  it  still  retains  that  distinc- 
tion. The  tower  measures  984  feet  from  the  ground,  almost 
double  the  height  of  the  Washington  Monument,  But-  then. 


1871-1914]  405 

the  latter  is  built  of  marble,  while  the  Eiffel  Tower  is  con- 
structed, like  a  railway  bridge,  of  iron  trusses,  columns,  and 
girders. 

Napoleon  the  Third  could  hardly  be  called  a  great  and  good 
man,  and  yet  he  did  much  for  his  country  in  a  material  way, 
and  he  gave  countenance  and  assistance  to  many  philanthropic 
and  charitable  enterprises.  During  the  life  of  the  Third  Empire 
old-age  pensions  were  instituted  for  indigent  laborers,  free 
medical  service  was  provided  in  remote  country  districts,  the 
railways  and  the  telegraph  lines  were  greatly  extended,  a  sys- 
tem of  coast  patrols  and  lighthouses  was  perfected,  and  over 
two  thousand  miles  of  main  highways  and  seventy-five  thousand 
miles  of  narrower  intersecting  roads  were  constructed.  But  the 
crowning  achievement  of  Napoleon  the  Third's  reign  was  the 
digging  of  the  Suez  Canal  connecting  the  Mediterranean  and 
Red  seas.  The  honor  of  conceiving  and  carrying  out  this 
stupendous  piece  of  engineering  work  belongs  to  Ferdinand 
de  Lesseps,  a  French  engineer,  and  it  was  France  that  defrayed 
the  greater  part  of  the  enormous  expense  of  the  undertaking. 
The  canal  was  opened  to  the  commerce  of  the  world  in  1869, 
and  it  shortened  the  way  to  the  Orient  by  several  thousands 
of  miles. 

The  Emperor  was  especially  concerned  with  municipal 
improvement  in  the  city  of  Paris.  Under  the  old  conditions 
many  quarters  of  the  city  were  most  congested  and  unsanitary. 
Under  the  plans  and  guidance  of  Baron  Haussmann,  Napoleon  the 
Third  had  magnificent  boulevards  or  wide  avenues  cut  straight 
through  the  heart  of  these  wretched  slums,  letting  in  the  bright 
sunshine  and  fresh  air,  and  so  totally  transforming  them. 
Among  the  most  celebrated  of  these  splendid  new  streets  may 
be  mentioned  the  Boulevards  Saint-Michel,  Saint-Germain,  and 
Haussmann,  familiar  to  all  American  globe-trotters. 

The  famous  Paris  Opera  House  is  another  of  Napoleon  the 
Third's  inspirations.  Although  it  seats  only  2,158  people,  it 
covers  almost  three  acres  of  ground  and  is  the  largest  and  most 
sumptuously  decorated  and  furnished  theater  in  the  world. 

Still  another  of  "Napoleon  the  Little's"  gifts  to  Paris  is  the 
pity  park  known  as  the  Bois  (or  Wood)  de  Boulogne,  It  ig 


406  [1871-1914 

a  beautiful  and  profusely  wooded  area  of  2,250  acres,  or  near- 
ly three  times  the  size  of  Central  Park  in  New  York  City. 

The  Republic  has  had  its  troubles  as  well  as  its  triumphs. 
During  the  years  1889-1892  all  France  was  shaken  by  a  great 
scandal  arising  from  the  gross  mismanagement  and  failure  of 
a  company  organized  by  Ferdinand  de  Lesseps,  who  had  won 
great  fame  by  the  successful  construction  of  the  Suez  Canal, 
for  the  digging  of  a  similar  canal  at  the  Isthmus  of  Panama. 
After  the  expenditure  of  upward  of  $260,000,000,  with  the 
work  in  a  very  unsatisfactory  condition,  the  company  became 
bankrupt.  It  then  developed  that  bribery  and  corruption  on 
a  scale  as  gigantic  as  the  undertaking  itself  had  been  resorted 
to  by  the  promoters  of  the  enterprise.  Prosecutions  followed. 
Among  those  condemned  to  severe  punishment  was  Ferdinand 
de  Lesseps  himself.  He  was  already  dying  from  age  and  worry 
when  this  final  blow  fell  upon  him.  It  was  a  pathetic  ending 
of  a  career  which,  aside  from  this  last  deplorable  incident,  is 
one  of  the  most  illustrious  in  modern  French  history. 

Dangerous  political  intrigues  on  the  part  of  Bourbon  and 
Bonapartist  claimants  to  the  throne  of  France  made  it  neces- 
sary, in  1886,  to  expel  from  the  country  all  persons  in  the  direct 
line  of  succession  from  the  Bourbon  kings  and  Bonapartist  em- 
perors. While  the  severity  of  this  decree  was  afterward  greatly 
modified,  service  in  the  army  and  navy  of  the  Republic  is  still 
denied  to  the  members  of  the  old  monarchical  families. 

Between  the  State  and  the  Church  (Catholic)  friction  had 
existed  for  many  years.  But  finally  the  secular  power  triumphed. 
In  1880  the  convents  and  schools  of  the  Jesuits  were  closed  and 
the  society  itself  was  expelled  from  France.  In  1903  fifty-four 
religious  orders  of  men,  embracing  teaching,  preaching,  and 
commercial  associations,  were  suppressed.  Over  two  thousand 
convents  were  closed.  The  wisdom  as  well  as  the  justice  of  this 
complete  secularization  of  public  education  is  certainly  open 
to  question. 

In  the  year  1881,  under  the  pretext  of  defending  her  Algerian 
frontier  against  the  raids  of  the  mountain  tribes  of  Tunis  on 
the  east,  France  sent  troops  into  that  country  and  established 
a  protectorate  over  it.  This  act  of  hers  deeply  offended  the 


1871-1914]  407 

Italians,  who  had  had  their  eye  upon  this  district,  regarding  it  as 
belonging  to  them  by  virtue  of  its  geographical  position  as  well 
as  its  historical  traditions. 

An  even  more  delicate  situation  developed  in  1898  when 
Captain  Marchand,  a  French  army  officer,  raised  his  national 
flag  over  African  territory  which  Great  Britain  claimed  as  a 
part  of  her  Egyptian  protectorate.  The  Fashoda  incident  held 
a  prominent  place  for  a  while  on  the  stage  of  world  affairs,  but 
happily  England  and  France  had  too  much  sense  to  actually 
go  to  war  over  a  question  of  land-grabbing.  That  supreme 
folly  was  to  be  committed  by  the  Prussian  Junkers  and  mili- 
tary overlords  of  1914. 

A  few  more  years  of  peace  and  prosperity  for  La  Bette  France 
and  then  came  the  terrible  catastrophe  of  the  world  war. 


CHAPTER  LIX 
THE  WORLD  WAR 

A.D.  1914-1917 

WHEN,  on  June  28,  1914,  the  young  Serbian  anarchist,  Prin- 
zep,  fired  the  revolver-shot  at  Sarajevo  which  resulted  in  the 
death  of  the  Archduke  Francis  Ferdinand,  heir  presumptive 
to  the  thrones  of  Austria  and  Hungary  (his  wife  being  also  a 
victim  of  the  assassin's  bullets),  no  one  outside  of  Germany 
had  any  idea  of  the  terrible  and  far-reaching  consequences  that 
were  shortly  to  follow.  But  the  Prussian  war  party  had  been 
waiting  for  just  such  an  opportunity.  For  years  the  toast  of 
Der  Tag  (The  Day)  had  been  drunk,  with  all  the  honors,  in 
every  military  and  naval  mess-room  of  the  empire;  the  officers, 
trained  under  the  iron  regime  of  Junkerism,  were  thirsting  to 
unsheath  their  swords  for  the  winning  of  unlimited  loot  and 
glory;  the  Emperor  William  II  had  declared  that  Germany  must 
and  should  have  her  place  in  the  sun.  The  great  Teuton  war- 
machine,  which  had  taken  over  forty  years  to  perfect,  was  now 
ready  for  use;  The  Day  had  arrived. 

There  must  always  be  two  parties  to  every  quarrel,  but 
at  first  Germany  stood  alone  in  her  wish  to  precipitate  the  con- 
flict. Even  Austria-Hungary  would  never  have  dared  to  bring 
about  the  crisis  consequent  upon  her  insulting  note  to  Serbia 
of  July  23, 1916,  had  it  not  been  for  Germany  standing  in  the 
background  and  relentlessly  egging  her  on.  Great  Britain, 
Russia,  France — none  of  these  great  nations  wanted  war  with 
all  its  attendant  miseries  and  horrors;  and,  as  the  diplomatic 
documents  conclusively  show,  they  made  every  possible  effort 
to  avoid  it.  Russia  had  indeed  protested  against  the  annexa- 
tion of  Serbian  territory  by  Austria,  but  the  Czar  had  signified 
his  willingness  to  have  the  whole  matter  submitted  to  The 
Hague  for  arbitration.  Serbia  had  replied  in  conciliatory  terms 


1914-1917]  40g 

to  the  Austrian  note,  and  the  one  real  obstacle  in  the  way  of  a 
peaceful  settlement  was  Germany.  But  that  obstacle  was  an 
immovable  one;  Germany  was  out  to  win  the  overlordship  of 
the  world,  and  nothing  could  stop  her.  The  Prussian  military 
party  had  laid  their  plans  with  the  utmost  care  and  they  did 
not  believe  that  a  miscarriage  could  be  possible.  Within  a 
month  the  German  army  would  be  in  Paris  and  the  war  would 
be  over.  And,  as  events  showed,  they  were  very  nearly  right; 
it  was  only  a  veritable  miracle  that  saved  civilization  from  being 
ground  to  powder  under  the  iron  heel  of  the  Prussian  jack-boot. 

Austria  declared  war  against  Serbia  on  Tuesday,  July  28, 
1914.  The  Czar  ordered  the  complete  mobilization  of  his  army 
on  July  30th,  and  on  August  1st  Germany  set  the  world  aflame 
by  her  declaration  of  war  on  Russia. 

Obviously  there  could  be  no  European  war  with  Germany 
an  active  participant  that  would  not  mean  danger  to  France; 
sooner  or  later  Frenchmen  and  Germans  must  renew  their 
hereditary  struggle.  Now  the  northwestern  frontier  of  France 
was  protected  by  a  strong  chain  of  modern  forts,  such  as  Bel- 
fort,  Rethel,  Verdun,  Nancy,  and  Toul,  but  where  Belgium 
was  the  international  neighbor  the  way,  in  a  military  sense, 
was  open.  The  protection  in  this  quarter  was  the  official 
permanent  neutrality  of  Belgium,  which  had  been  guaranteed 
long  since  by  all  the  great  powers,  including  Germany.  On 
Monday,  August  3d,  Belgium  reaffirmed  its  neutral  position 
and  its  firm  purpose  to  defend  its  soil  from  invasion  by  France, 
Germany,  England,  or  indeed  any  other  nation.  The  same 
day  Germany  and  France  made  mutual  declarations  of  war. 

The  situation  then  was  as  follows:  the  objective  point  of  the 
German  strategy  was  Paris,  the  acknowledged  capital  of  civili- 
zation, but  to  attack  from  the  direction  of  the  Rhine  provinces 
meant  that  the  strong  French  fortresses  must  be  successively 
besieged  and  taken.  This  would  entail  delay  and  give  the 
French  a  chance  to  mobilize  their  military  forces.  But  there 
was  another  way,  an  easy  and  undefended  one,  through  the 
tiny  grand-duchy  of  Luxemburg,  across  Belgium,  and  thence 
into  the  rich  northern  provinces  of  France.  There  was  only 
one  difficulty— the  neutrality  of  Belgium,  Germany  requested 


410  [1914-1917 

permission  to  send  her  troops  through  Belgium,  promising  to 
pay  for  all  damage  done  and  offering  substantial  favors  for  the 
future.  But  Belgium  would  not  sell  her  honor  and  she  refused 
the  proposition  with  scorn.  The  Teutonic  soul  found  it  difficult 
to  understand  these  niceties  of  a  national  conscience.  "What!" 
exclaimed  Chancellor  von  Bethmann-Hollweg  to  Sir  Edward 
Vochen,  British  Ambassador  at  Berlin,  "is  it  the  purpose  of 
your  country  to  make  war  upon  Germany  for  the  sake  of  a 
scrap  of  paper?"  Yes,  only  a  "scrap  of  paper,"  but  it  was  to 
make  all  the  difference  between  an  immortality  of  honor  and  of 
dishonor.  Even  von  Bethmann-Hollweg  admitted  the  weak- 
ness of  his  case  when,  later  on,  he  acknowledged  in  a  speech 
before  the  German  Reichstag,  or  parliament,  that  the  invasion 
of  Belgium  was  "a  wrong  that  we  will  try  to  make  good  again 
so  soon  as  our  military  ends  have  been  reached." 

The  actual  invasion  of  Belgium  began  on  the  morning  of 
August  4th,  when  twelve  regiments  of  Uhlans  crossed  the  fron- 
tier near  Vise  and  came  into  contact  with  a  Belgian  force, 
driving  it  back  upon  Lie*ge.  England  served  an  ultimatum  upon 
Germany,  and,  as  the  German  Foreign  Office  made  no  reply,  the 
declaration  of  war  immediately  followed. 

The  German  attack  upon  France  was  terrible  hi  its  celerity 
and  brutal  power.  Twenty-four  army  corps,  divided  into  three 
main  divisions,  the  soldiers  clad  in  a  specially  designed  and 
colored  gray-green  uniform,  swept  in  three  mighty  streams  over 
the  German  borders,  having  as  their  objective  the  heart  of 
France.  The  Army  of  the  Meuse  was  given  the  route  through 
Belgium — Lie"ge,  Namur,  and  Maubeuge.  The  Army  of  the 
Moselle  violated  the  territory  of  the  grand-duchy  of  Luxem- 
burg, which,  under  a  treaty  guaranteeing  its  independence  and 
neutrality,  was  not  permitted  to  maintain  an  army.  Germany 
had  been  a  signatory  party  to  this  treaty  also,  but  cynically 
waved  aside  all  sentimental  appeals  to  decency  and  honor. 
The  Army  of  the  Rhine  cut  through  the  Vosges  Mountains  and 
was  to  pass  between  Nancy  and  Toul  on  its  way  to  Paris. 

It  was  the  heroic  defence  of  the  little  Belgian  army  at  Lie"ge 
which  delayed  the  operation  of  Germany's  plans  and  in  all  prob- 
ability saved  Paris.  During  those  fateful  ten  days  in  which 


1914-1917]  411 

Liege  held  out  the  British  expeditionary  forces  were  landed  in 
France  and  the  French  army  was  mobilized  to  its  full  strength. 

But  the  Belgian  military  power  could  offer  no  prolonged  re- 
sistance to  the  Prussian  car  of  Juggernaut,  and  by  August  20th 
Brussels  was  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  Now  for  the  final 
onslaught  upon  France  and  three  weeks  hence  a  triumphal 
dinner  in  Paris! 

The  French  unwisely  had  made  a  sentimental  advance  into 
Alsace-Lorraine,  and  their  small  initial  successes  had  been  fol- 
lowed by  decisive  defeats.  And  in  the  mean  time  the  Germans 
were  attacking  on  the  line  running  between  Mons  and  Charleroi; 
opposing  them  were  the  "contemptible  little  English  army" 
and  the  French  forces  under  General  Joffre.  The  Allies  fought 
with  great  bravery,  but  under  the  sheer  weight  of  numbers  they 
were  obliged  to  retreat. 

On  August  24th  the  Germans  entered  France  near  Lille,  and 
then  came  a  dreadful  fortnight  in  which  the  combined  French 
and  British  armies  were  steadily  forced  back  by  von  Kluck's 
forces.  It  seemed  as  though  Paris  were  doomed  to  capture,  and, 
so  critical  became  the  situation,  that,  on  September  3d,  the 
government  was  transferred  to  Bordeaux.  A  panic  followed. 
Citizens  left  Paris  by  the  thousands — by  railways,  by  motor- 
car, on  foot — any  way  to  get  away.  The  banks  transferred 
their  treasures,  the  priceless  masterpieces  of  art  in  the  Louvre 
and  other  galleries  were  placed  in  hiding,  and  Paris  set  its  teeth, 
prepared  for  the  worst.  The  enemy  was  now  only  twenty  miles 
away. 

But  the  miracle  happened.  General  von  Kluck,  disregarding 
the  fortresses  surrounding  Paris,  swung  southward  to  make  a 
junction  with  the  army  of  the  Crown  Prince  of  Germany  ad- 
vancing through  the  Vosges  Mountains.  That  manoeuvre  left 
his  flank  exposed.  General  Gallieni,  commanding  the  garrison 
of  Paris,  commandeered  every  taxicab,  car,  and  motor-omnibus 
in  the  city  to  carry  his  soldiers  forty  miles  out  to  the  firing- 
line.  When  all  was  ready  General  Joffre  sprung  the  trap. 
Either  von  Kluck  must  surrender  or  retreat.  He  chose  the 
latter  alternative  and  the  first  battle  of  the  Marne  (September 
0-10th)  passed  into  history.  The  Germans  fell  back  to  the 


412  [1914-1917 

Soissons-Rheims  line  and  dug  themselves  in.  Paris  was  saved, 
but  it  had  been  a  close  call.  Many  German  officers  were  found 
dead  on  the  battle-field  dressed  hi  their  gala  white  uniforms,  put 
on  to  signalize  their  triumphant  entry  into  Paris.  There  had 
even  been  prepared  the  menu  of  the  "victory"  dinner  which 
the  German  Emperor  was  to  eat  at  his  particular  corner  table 
in  a  famous  Parisian  restaurant.  But  he  never  ate  that  dinner. 

Now  began  the  long,  wearisome  period  of  trench  fighting, 
when  for  montlis  the  hostile  armies  contended  literally  for  every 
inch  of  ground.  But  there  are  still  immortal  memories  of  those 
dull  gray  days,  and  chief  among  them  stands  the  name  of  Verdun. 

Verdun  was  the  greatest  of  the  modern  French  fortresses. 
It  protected  the  rich  iron-fields  of  the  Briey  basin,  but  it  was 
particularly  important  in  that  it  guarded  the  direct  gateway 
to  Paris.  The  Germans  resolved  that  Verdun  must  be  de- 
stroyed, and  under  the  leadership  of  the  Crown  Prince  the  most 
desperate  efforts  were  made  to  accomplish  this  result.  The 
siege  began  on  February  19,  1916,  and  the  battle  continued 
without  intermission  until  November  2d,  when  the  Germans 
were  forced  to  evacuate  Fort  Vaux. 

Nothing  like  the  bombardment  of  Verdun  had  ever  been 
known  in  military  history.  From  four  to  five  thousand  heavy 
guns  were  hi  constant  operation  by  the  Germans,  and  the 
weight  of  metal  thrown  by  these  monsters  is  incalculable. 
The  Germans  had  expected  that  the  shell-fire  would  make  the 
French  positions  untenable  and  that  infantry  attacks  would  not 
be  necessary.  But  the  French  dug  themselves  in  so  thoroughly 
that  even  the  big  12-inch  shells  could  not  dislodge  them,  and 
finally  the  Prussian  leaders  had  to  send  their  men  in  wave  after 
wave  against  the  twenty-five-mile  front  of  the  Verdun  earth- 
works to  be  mowed  down  in  thousands  by  the  famous  French 
"75"  light  artillery  guns. 

All  through  the  summer  the  battle-cry  of  Verdun,  "Ne  passerout 
pas!"  ("They  shall  not  pass!")  rang  out,  an  undying  inspiration 
to  the  French  army  and  to  the  world.  Then,  at  last,  France 
struck  back,  and  by  a  brilliant  series  of  attacks  Forts  Douainont 
and  Vaux  were  recaptured  and  the  long  struggle  for  the  pos- 
session of  the  Verdun  salient  was  at  an  end. 


1914-1917] 


413 


But  France  had  enemies  in  the  rear  as  well  as  at  the  front. 
German  propaganda  and  German  gold  had  done  poisonous  work, 
and  there  were  traitors  even  in  high  places,  cowards  who  cried 
that  the  Allies  could  not  possibly  win  the  war,  pacifists  and  de- 
featists who  were  only  too  ready  to  stab  their  country  in  the 
back.  It  was  necessary  to  make  short  work  with  these  miser- 
able creatures.  Georges  Clemenceau  ("the  Tiger")  had  become 
Premier  of  France,  and  on  January  14,  1918,  he  ordered  the  ar- 
rest of  Joseph  Caillaux,  a  former  premier,  on  a  charge  of  high 
treason.  The  trial  and  execution  (April  16th)  of  Bolo  Pasha, 
a  Levantine  by  birth,  but  a  naturalized  Frenchman,  had  also  a 
most  salutary  effect  in  clearing  the  moral  atmosphere. 

"Frightfulness"  was  a  characteristic  feature  of  Germany's 
military  policy;  they  actually  believed  that  by  showing  them- 
selves to  be  superhuman  bullies  and  brutes  they  could  cow 
their  enemies  into  submission.  A  typical  example  of  this  stupid 
savagery  was  the  long-distance  shelling  of  Paris.  On  March 
23,  1918,  nine-inch  shells  began  dropping  into  the  Mont- 
martre  district  of  the  city.  The  nearest  Germany  artillery  base 
was  over  sixty  miles  away,  and  it  seemed  incredible  that  any 
gun  with  such  a  range  existed.  But  it  was  soon  established  that 
the  projectiles  came  from  the  forest  of  Saint-Gobain,  seventy- 
six  miles  from  Paris,  and  that  they  were  fired  from  a  specially 
designed  Krupp  cannon,  which  was  promptly  christened  "Big 
Bertha"  after  the  rich  proprietress  of  the  famous  gun-works  at 
Essen  in  Germany.  For  a  month  or  more  some  two  dozen  shells 
fell  daily  in  the  Paris  streets,  with  comparatively  few  casualties. 
But  on  Good  Friday  (March  29th)  a  shell  struck  the  Church  of 
Saint-Gervais  while  service  was  going  on,  killing  seventy-five 
persons  and  wounding  ninety.  Fifty-four  of  the  killed  were 
women.  There  was  no  military  advantage  in  this  slaughter  of 
the  innocents  and  the  outrage  aroused  world-wide  indignation. 
Early  in  April  the  French  artillery  got  the  range  of  the  nest 
harboring  the  three  "Big  Berthas"  and  soon  put  it  out  of  ac- 
tive business.  The  shell  weighed  two  hundred  pounds  and  it 
took  about  three  minutes  for  it  to  travel  to  Paris;  during  its 
aerial  journey  it  probably  rose  to  a  height  of  twenty  miles 
above  the  earth. 


414  [1914-1917 

In  recalling  the  heroic  exploits  of  France's  defenders  we  must 
not  forget  the  aviators  and  then*  thrilling  duels  in  the  clouds. 
The  two  most  famous  French  air  fighters, or  "aces,"  were  Georges 
Guynemer  and  Ren6  Fouck.  Guynemer  was  a  young  man  of 
such  slender  and  delicate  physique  that  he  could  not  get  into 
the  regular  army.  But  he  was  determined  to  do  something 
and  he  became  a  "birdman."  They  say  that  after  every  flight 
he  was  ill  for  several  hours,  but  nothing  kept  him  back.  When 
he  died  in  his  last  battle  above  the  clouds  he  had  over  a  hundred 
victories  to  his  credit. 

Lieutenant  Fouck  came  through  the  war  with  a  total  of 
seventy-five  official  victories  and  forty  more  unofficial  triumphs. 
In  one  day  he  brought  down  six  German  planes.  Once  he  shot 
down  three  Huns  in  twenty  seconds.  Truly  these  men  by  their 
splendid  individual  work  revived  all  the  ancient  glories  of 
chivalry. 


CHAPTER  LX 
VICTORY 

A.D.  1917-1918 

THE  turning  point  in  the  war  came  with  the  appointment  of 
General  Foch  as  Cominander-in-Chief  of  all  the  Allied  forces, 
the  date  being  March  29,  1918.  Hitherto  the  English  and 
French,  the  Italian  and  American  forces  had  only  co-operated: 
now  they  were  really  to  work  together.  It  was  high  tune,  for 
the  Russian  revolution  and  military  collapse  had  released 
thousands  of  German  regiments  for  service  on  the  western 
front.  It  is  true  that  the  United  States  had  entered  the  war, 
but  it  would  be  some  months  before  the  American  forces  could 
be  transported  in  any  considerable  numbers  to  the  shores  of 
France.  Co-operation  was  vitally  necessary  and,  fortunately, 
the  Allies  were  agreed  upon  the  right  man — General  Foch — 
who  had  already  won  distinction  for  the  great  part  he  took  in 
winning  the  first  battle  of  the  Marne. 

The  tune  was  critical.  The  Germans  had  prepared  great 
quantities  of  supplies  and  munitions,  and  they  knew  they  must 
act  quickly,  for  the  Americans  were  on  the  way  in  overwhelming 
numbers.  Whereupon  the  German  high  command  ordered 
three  gigantic  offensive  movements — hi  Picardy  along  the 
Somme  (March  21,  1918),  on  the  Lys  (April  9,  1918),  and 
against  the  Oise-Marne  salient  (May  27,  1918). 

At  enormous  cost  in  human  lives  the  Germans  gained  a  few 
miles  on  each  of  these  attempts.  But  nowhere  did  they  suc- 
ceed in  breaking  through.  With  each  succeeding  day  the  at- 
tack would  grow  weaker,  and  finally  the  drive,  as  it  was  called, 
would  come  to  a  dead  stop.  Nevertheless,  the  advantages  ap- 
peared to  be  on  the  side  of  the  Germans,  and  General  Foch's 
dilatory  and  defensive  tactics  were  severely  criticised.  At  the 
beginning  of  June  the  Germans  had  captured  four  hundred  heavy 


416  [1917-1918 

guns  and  had  taken  forty-four  thousand  prisoners  and  over  six 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  territory.  It  did  look  as  though  they 
were  winning,  but  General  Foch  knew  better;  he  was  convinced 
that  the  enemy  was  wearing  itself  out  and  that  at  the  proper 
moment  he  could  strike  back  and  win. 

The  Germans  made  one  more  effort.  General  Ludendorff 
gathered  together  seventy  divisions  of  his  best  troops  and  drove 
in  from  Chateau-Thierry  on  a  sixty-mile  line  up  on  the  Maine, 
and  thence  east  to  the  Argonne  forests.  The  fighting  was  of  the 
most  desperate  character.  Thousands  of  great  guns  were  send- 
ing out  a  constant  stream  of  projectiles  which  made  vast  pits 
and  craters  wherever  they  fell;  thousands  of  aeroplanes  were 
patrolling  the  skies  or  dropping  bombs  on  the  hostile  lines;  in- 
numerable batteries  of  machine-guns  were  pumping  millions 
of  bullets  into  the  faces  of  the  advancing  troops;  everywhere 
there  were  noise  and  confusion  and  death.  And  yet  on  June 
17th  the  Kaiser  celebrated  the  thirtieth  anniversary  of  his 
accession  to  the  throne  by  a  vainglorious  proclamation  and  a 
confident  prediction  of  coming  victory. 

The  fresh  American  forces  had  stopped  the  German  advance 
at  Chateau-Thierry,  and  in  the  Argonne,  and  the  morale  of  the 
enemy  had  thereby  received  a  severe  shock.  It  was  time  for 
Foch  to  take  the  initiative  and  he  was  ready  for  the  supreme 
test.  On  August  7th  the  English  and  French  began  a  con- 
certed attack.  Presently  the  Germans  began  to  retreat  in  good 
earnest,  abandoning  an  enormous  quantity  of  ammunition  and 
stores;  by  August  12th  some  forty  thousand  prisoners  had  been 
captured.  Town  after  town  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Allies. 
The  Germans  were  destroying  everything  as  they  retreated, 
blowing  up  churches  and  houses,  cutting  down  fruit  trees,  poison- 
ing wells,  and  leaving  infernal-machine  traps  in  innocent-looking 
places. 

Perhaps  there  would  be  a  handsome  gold  watch  lying  on  a 
table.  But  if  you  attempted  to  pick  it  up  you  would  thereby 
set  off  a  bomb  which  would  probably  blow  you  into  a  thousand 
pieces.  And  the  Germans  called  this,  War! 

The  celebrated  Hindenburg  line  had  wonderful  defences  of 
ferro-cement  gun-emplacements  and  barbed-wire  entangle- 


1917-1918]  417 

ments.  The  tunnels  and  communicating  trenches  had  been 
constructed  with  extraordinary  skill;  they  were  lined  and  roofed 
with  heavy  timbers,  lighted  by  electricity,  and  defended  by 
heavy  guns.  Yet  the  artillery  fire  of  the  Allies  finally  wiped 
out  these  impregnable  positions  and  then  the  soldiers  went  "over 
the  top"  and  took  possession. 

All  through  September  and  October  the  Germans  steadily 
retreated  and  the  Allies  as  steadily  advanced.  By  November 
1st  the  beginning  of  the  end  was  plainly  in  sight.  Bulgaria  and 
Turkey  had  already  succumbed,  and  now  came  the  smashing 
Italian  offensive  that  brought  Austria  to  her  knees  begging 
for  an  armistice;  the  back  door  of  Germany  was  at  last  open 
to  the  Allies. 

There  is  little  reason  to  doubt  that  soon  General  Foch  would 
have  turned  the  German  retreat  into  the  most  disastrous  defeat 
and  rout  known  in  all  history.  But  Germany  was  frantically 
calling  for  an  armistice  and  surely  enough  blood  had  been  shed 
in  this  the  greatest  of  wars.  Accordingly,  General  Foch  drew  up 
the  terms,  complete  and  uncompromising  in  their  severity. 
If  Germany  accepted  them  her  military  power  was  at  an  end. 
And  the  Germans  did  accept;  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done. 
Had  they  refused,  General  Foch's  big  pincers  would  have  closed 
up  and  ground  them  into  powder  and  dust. 

The  armistice  was  signed  on  the  morning  of  November  11, 
1918,  and  the  fighting  actually  stopped  at  eleven  o'clock;  the 
great  war  was  practically  over,  and  peace  had  come  again  to  a 
sorely  tried  world.  From  the  tower  of  the  cathedral  in  Stras- 
burg  once  again  there  floated  the  beautiful  tricolor  of  France; 
the  lost  provinces  had  been  at  last  redeemed. 

Let  us  endeavor  to  realize  the  great,  the  almost  supernatural 
efforts  that  France  made  to  keep  the  world  safe  for  democracy. 

In  the  first  place,  the  principal  battle-field  was  over  northern 
France,  the  richest  and  most  thickly  populated  section  of  the 
country.  Every  time  the  Germans  advanced  a  foot,  that  much 
more  of  France  was  despoiled  and  ruined  for  at  least  a  genera- 
tion to  come;  every  time  a  mine  was  exploded,  every  time  a 
cannon  was  fired,  whether  from  the  Teuton  or  the  Allied  side, 


418  [1917-1918 

that  much  more  damage  was  committed  on  French  property. 
Whole  villages,  towns,  cities,  were  actually  wiped  out;  to-day 
their  former  sites  are  nothing  but  a  frightful  desert. 

Out  of  a  total  home  population  of  about  40,000,000  France 
sent  to  the  colors  7,700,000  men.  Approximately  1,400,000 
have  been  killed  and  1,000,000  are  disabled  or  missing.  Re- 
member, too,  that  these  are  the  young  men,  the  breadwinners 
and  workers  of  their  generation. 

In  spite  of  the  early  loss  to  the  enemy  of  the  rich  iron  regions 
and  manufacturing  district  of  northern  France,  the  French  were 
yet  able  to  provide  themselves  with  the  necessary  supplies  of 
war  material,  and  even  to  lend  to  then1  allies.  For  every 
100  rifles  which  France  had  at  the  beginning  of  the  war  she 
had  29,000  at  the  conclusion  of  hostilities.  For  every  100 
machine-guns,  she  had  7,000;  the  300  pieces  of  heavy  artillery 
in  1914  had  been  increased  to  6,000  hi  1918;  the  aeroplane 
production  had  increased  in  the  ratio  of  40  to  1. 

The  cost  of  the  war  to  France  totaled  $23,486,238,552. 
About  five  billions  of  this  tremendous  sum  was  raised  by  taxa- 
tion; in  1918  the  citizens  of  France  were  paying  into  the  state 
treasury  an  average  of  $50  per  inhabitant. 

Smaller  in  population  than  the  United  States,  or  Germany, 
or  Great  Britain,  or  Austria,  France  suffered  the  brunt  of  the 
attack  upon  civilization.  Had  not  the  French  Republic  gone 
heart  and  soul  into  the  struggle,  giving  of  her  very  best  hi  brains 
and  men  and  treasure,  Germany  would  have  won  the  war; 
make  no  mistake  about  that.  Remember  that  Germany  was 
ready  and  that  Great  Britain  and  America  were  not  ready.  If 
France  had  not  stood  in  the  gap  the  Hun  hordes  would  have 
swarmed  over  Europe  just  as  they  did  in  the  time  of  Attila 
and  the  clock  of  the  world's  progress  would  have  been  set  back 
perhaps  forever.  Civilization  owes  a  debt  to  France  that  can 
never,  indeed,  be  fully  paid,  but  which  must  never  be  forgotten. 

Vive  la  France! 


INDEX 


Abbaye,  massacre  at  the,  284. 

Aeroplanes,  416. 

Albigenses,  the,  87. 

Alexander  of  Russia,  335. 

Algerian  frontier,  406. 

Alsace-Lorraine,  402,  403,  411. 

Angouleme,  Duchess  of,  367. 

Anne  of  Austria,  212,  215. 

Archbishop  of  Aries,  45. 

Argonne  forests,  416. 

Armagnacs,  the,  139. 

Armistice  signed,  417. 

Army  of  occupation,  402. 

Artevelde,  Jacob  van,  119. 

Austria-Hungary,  note  to  Ser- 
bia, 408:  war  declared,  409; 
begs  for  armistice,  417. 

Aviators,  414. 

B 

Bartholomew,  St.,  massacre  of, 

192. 

Bastile,  capture  of,  271. 
Bayard,    Chevalier,    162;    death 

of,  166. 

Beaufort,  Cardinal,  144,  146. 
Beaujeu,  Anne  of,  156. 
Behm,  the  murderer,  192. 
Belfort,  fort,  409. 
Belgium,  neutrality  of,  409,  410; 

invasion  of,  410;   army,  410. 
Belzunce,  Bishop,  248. 
Bethmann-Hollweg,  410. 
"Big  Bertha,"  413. 


Black  Death,  the,  116. 

Bois  de  Boulogne,  405. 

Bonaparte,  Napoleon,  destroys 
the  sections,  312;  in  Italy,  317; 
and  Josephine,  319;  and  the 
Directory,  319,  322;  in  Egypt, 
321 ;  first  consul,  322;  home  life, 
324;  emperor,  329. 

Boniface,  Pope,  108. 

Bordeaux,  French  government 
transferred  to,  411. 

Borodino,  battle  of,  357. 

Brinvilliers,  the  poisoner,  237: 

Brittany,  Anne  of,  157. 

Broussel,  224. 

Brunehault  and  Fredegonde,  11. 

Bulgaria  defeated,  417. 

Burgundy,  Fearless  John  of,  138; 
the  Count  of,  149;  killed  in  bat- 
tle, 153. 

c 

Caillaux,  Joseph,  413. 
Calais,  siege  of,  122. 
Calendar,  the  republican,  314. 
Capet,  Hugh,  50. 
Carnot,  317. 
Carrier,  305. 
Cavaignac,  391. 

Charlemagne,  26;  wars  with 
Saxons,  ib.;  at  Roncesvalles, 
30;  his  life,  32;  his  tomb,  34. 

harleroi,  411. 

harles  Martel,  19. 

harles  the  Bald,  41. 

harles  the  Fat,  46. 
Charles  VII.,  148. 


420 


INDEX 


Charles  VIII.,  156;  wars  of,  157; 

death,  160. 
Charles    IX.,    remorse   of,    194; 

death,  ib. 
Charles    X.,   379;     overthrown, 

383. 

Chateau-Thierry,  416. 
Chevreuse,  Duchess  of,  217. 
Childebert,   11. 
Cinq-Mars,  218. 
Clemenceau,  George.  413. 
Clovis,  King  of  the  Franks,  4. 
Coligni,  Admiral,  188,  190. 
Collot  d'Herbois,  304. 
Commune,  the,  402,  403. 
Concini,  Marquis  of,  213. 
Concorde,  Place  de  la,  402. 
Constance,  Queen,  61. 
Constantinople,  70. 
Convents  closed,  406. 
Corday,  Charlotte,  293;   goes  to 

Paris,  294;    kills  Marat,  295; 

execution,  296. 

Costume  under  Philip  VI.,  124. 
Coup  d'Etat,  396. 
Court  costume  under  Napoleon, 

341. 

Couthon,  306. 
Creci,  battle  of,  127. 
Crusades,  the,  69,  70,  80,  84. 


Damiens,  execution  of,  256. 
Danton,  299. 
Dauphin,  the,  302. 
De  Lesseps,  Ferdinand,  405,  406. 
Delusions  in  France,  114. 
De  Morny,  394. 
Der  Tag,  toast,  408. 
D'Estr6es,  Gabrielle,  207. 
Diamond  Necklace,  the,  266. 
Douamont,  fort,  412. 
Dubarry,  Countess  of,  252. 
Dubois,  the  Abbe,  245. 
Pumouriez,  General,  299. 


E 

Eiffel  Tower,  404. 

Eleanor  of  Aquitaine,  78. 

Enghien,  Duke  of,  326. 

England,  declares  war  on  Ger- 
many, 410;  army  in  France, 
411. 

Eudes,  Count  of  Paris,  48. 

Eugenie,  the  Empress,  397. 

F 

Famine,  54,  164. 

Ferdinand,  Archduke  Francis, 
408. 

Feudal  system,  the,  49. 

Flagellants,  the,  116. 

Foch,  General,  415. 

Fouck,  Rene",  414. 

France  in  1223-1226,  90;  state  of, 
in  1775,  259;  supernatural 
efforts,  417;  cost  of  war  to, 
418. 

Francis  I.,  170;  meets  Henry  of 
England,  171;  extravagance 
of,  ib.;  beaten  at  Pavia,  172. 

Franks,  the,  1. 

French,  revolution,  402,  403; 
war  indemnity,  402,  403;  gov- 
ernment war  loan,  403;  de- 
clares war  on  Germany,  409; 
forts,  409;  army  mobilized, 
411;  government  transferred 
to  Bordeaux,  411. 

Freycinet,  402. 

"Frightfulness,"  Germany's  mili- 
tary policy,  413. 


Gallieni,  General,  411. 
Gambetta,  402. 
Gaul,  conquest  of,  2. 
German,     "War     chest,"     403; 
army  of  occupation,  402,  403; 


INDEX 


421 


military  party,  407,  408,  409 
war  on  Russia,  409;  on  France 
409;  invades  Belgium,  410 
enters  France,  411;  siege  o 
Verdun,  412;  military  policy, 
413;  retreat,  417;  calls  for 
armistice,  417;  military  power 
at  an  end,  417. 

Gilded  youth,  the,  310. 

Girondists,  the,  291. 

Godfrey  of  Bouillon,  70. 

Gottschalk,  42. 

Great  Lady,  the,  156. 

Guises,  the,  182,  185;  Henry  of, 
196;  goes  to  Paris,  ib.;  mur- 
dered, 200. 

Guynemer,  Georges,  414. 

H 

Hague,  the,  408. 

Haussmann,  Baron,  405. 

Heloise  and  Abelard,  82. 

Henry  I.,  64. 

Henry  II.,  179;   death  of,  182. 

Henry  III.,  195;    death  of,  202. 

Henry  IV.,  King  of  Navarre, 
203;  fights  at  Ivry,  ib.;  enters 
Paris,  204;  becomes  a  Catholic, 
206;  his  poverty,  207;  his  mur- 
der, 211. 

Henry  V.  of  England  crowned 
King  of  France,  140;  death 
of,  ib. 

Hildebrand,  Pope,  66. 

Hinckmar,  the  archbishop,  41. 

Hindenburg  line,  416,  417. 

Huguenots,  the,  182. 


Interdict,  an,  57,  87. 
Iron  mask,  man  in  the,  242. 
Isabella  of  Angouleme,  98. 
Italian  offensive,  417. 


Jacobins,  the,  280;  crushed,  312. 
Jeanne  of  Flanders,  90. 
Jerusalem  captured,  74. 
Jesuit  society,  406. 
Jews,  persecution  of,  84,  115. 
Joan  of  Arc,  141;  capture  of,  144; 

burned,  146. 
Joffre,  General,  411. 
Joseph,  King  of  Spain,  352. 
Josephine,  344. 
Juana,  Crazy,  166. 
Julius  Caesar,  2. 
Junkers,  Prussian,  407,  408. 

K 

Kluck,  General  von,  411. 
Knights  Templar,  111. 


Lafayette  at  Versailles,  274; 
under  Charles  X.,  381;  his  life, 
386. 

Law,  John,  246. 

Leipsic,  battle  of,  362. 

Lie"ge,  defense  of,  411. 

Lodi,  battle  of,  318. 

Lothair  flies  to  Italy,  38. 

Louis  the  Fat,  74. 

Louis  the  Gentle,  35. 

Louis  the  Stammerer,  46. 

Louis,  Saint,  95. 

Louis  VII.,  death  of,  83. 

Louis  XL,  149;  caught  by  Duke 
of  Burgundy,  152;  goes  to 
Plessis  les  Tours,  153;  habits 
of,  154;  death  of,  155. 

Louis  XII.,  61,  168. 

Louis  XIII.,  212;  death  of,  220. 

Louis  XIV.,  crowned,  230;  his 
life,231;  hismarriage,232;wars, 
233;  his  extravagance,  234, 
235 ;  persecutes  the  Huguenots, 
239;  repeals  the  Edict  of 
Nantes,  240;  death  of,  241, 


422 


INDEX 


Louis  XV.,  250;  marries,  251; 
death  of,  256. 

Louis  XVI.,  258;  his  reforms, 
261;  his  government,  270; 
wears  cockade,  272;  flies  from 
Paris,  277;  brought  back  to 
Paris,  279;  trial  of,  286;  exe- 
cution, 290. 

Louis  XVIII.,  366;  flies,  370;  re- 
turns, 378;  invades  Spain,  379. 

Louis  Napoleon,  393;  President, 
394;  Emperor,  396;  his  war  in 
Italy,  397;  in  Mexico,  398;  at 
Sedan,  400;  dies,  401. 

Louis  Phillippe,  384;  his  govern- 
ment, 385;  overthrown,  388. 

Ludendorff,  General,  416. 

M 

Machine-guns,  416. 

Maintenon,    Madame    de,    233, 

241. 
Marat,    Jean    Paul,    291;     his 

savagery,  292;   his  death,  295. 
Marchand,  Captain,  407. 
Marie  Antoinette,  258;  her  death, 

301. 

Marie  Louise,  348. 
Marne,  battle  of,  411,  415. 
Mayor  of  the  palace,  18. 
Mazarin,  Cardinal,  224;  death  of, 

229. 

Medici,  Catherine  of,  186. 
Medici,  Marie  of,  212. 
Metternich,  361. 
Mirabeau  in  States-General,  268; 

defies  the  king,  270;  death,  276. 
Molay,  Jacques,  112. 
Mons,  411. 

Montford,  Jeanne  of,  120. 
Montfort,  Simon  of,  88. 
Montpensier,  Madame  de,  201. 
Moore,  Sir  John,  355. 
Moreau,  326. 
Moscow,  burning  of,  358. 


N 

Nancy,  fort,  409. 

Napoleon  crowned  emperor,  329 
at  Austerlitz,  333;  at  Jena,  334 
at  Friedland,  ib.;  at  Tilsit,  335 
improves  France,  337,  338;  re- 
proves a  priest,  341 ;  his  tyran- 
ny, 342;  divorces  Josephine 
347;  marries  Marie  Louise,  348 
invades  Spain,  351;  invades 
Russia,  357;  retreats,  359;  de- 
posed, 362;  at  Elba,  364;  re- 
turns to  France,  369;  invades 
Belgium,  371;  fights  at  Water- 
loo, ib.;  abdicates,  373;  at  St. 
Helena,  374;  dies,  376. 

Napoleon  the  Third,  405. 

Ney,  370. 

Normans,  the  sea  rovers,  36. 

O 

Oliver  Daim,  153. 
Orleans,  the  Regent,  244. 


Pacifists,  413. 

Panama  Canal,  406. 

Paris,  government  removed,  411; 
shelling  of,  413. 

Parliaments,  the  uprising  of,  262. 

Pasha,  Bolo,  413. 

Pepin,  16;  King  of  France,  21. 

Pestilence,  54. 

Peter  the  Hermit,  70. 

Philip  Augustus,  84. 

Philip  Equality,  286. 

Philip  I.,  66. 

Philip  VI.,  119;  dissipation  of, 
124;  career  of,  76. 

Philip  the  Handsome,  107;  his 
laws,  ib.;  his  wars,  108;  exe- 
cutes the  Knights  Templar, 
112. 

Pichegru,  326. 


INDEX 


423 


Poitiers,  battle  of,  127. 
Poitiers,  Diane  of,  179. 
Pompadour,  Marquise  of,  252. 
Propaganda,  German,  413. 
Provisional  government,  390. 
Prussia,  King  of,  334. 

R 

Rccamier,  Madame  de,  342. 

Reformation,  the,  178. 

Reign  of  Terror,  402. 

Relics,  oaths  on,  61. 

Religious  orders  of  men,  406. 

Republic,  the  new,  401. 

Republic,  Third,  402. 

Rethel,  fort,  409. 

Richelieu,  213;  his  skill,  214;  at- 
tempts to  murder  him,  215;  ill- 
ness of,  219;  death  of,  220; 
progress  of  France  under,  222. 

Robert  the  Devil,  63. 

Robert  the  King,  57. 

Robespierre,  298;  leader  of  the 
Jacobins,  299;  convention  of, 
306. 

Rome,  the  King  of,  349. 

Russian  revolution,  415. 

S 

Saint-Gobain  forest,  413. 
Saladin  the  Saracen,  84. 
Sciarra  Colonna,  110. 
Serbia,     Austria     declares     war 

against,  409. 
Sevastopol,  397. 
Sforza  the  Blackamoor,  161. 
Soissons,  8. 

Sombreuil,  Governor,  285. 
Sorcery,  114. 
Spandau,  citadel  of,  403. 
Spanish  hatred  of  the  French, 

354. 


Stael,  Madame  de,  342. 
States-General,  meeting  of,  269. 
Strasburg,  statue  of,  404. 
Strife  between  nobles  and  Church, 

5. 

Suez  Canal,  digging,  405. 
Suger,  the  Abbot,  77. 
Swiss,  massacre  of  the,  282. 


Taille,  the,  260. 

Talleyrand,  386. 

Temple,  109. 

Thiers,  President,  402. 

Toul,  fort,  409. 

Tours,  the  battle  of,  20. 

Tower,  Julius,  403. 

Treaty  of  Peace,  German-French, 

402. 

Tristan  1'Ermite,  153. 
Tuileries  invaded,  280. 
Turkey  defeated,  417. 


Valois,  the  Countess  of,  266. 
Vaux,  fort,  412. 

Verdun,  fort,  409;  siege  of,  412. 
Vergniaud,  291 ;  death  of,  302. 
Vezelai,  council  at,  80. 
Vochen,  Sir  Edward,  410. 
Voltaire  and  philosophers,  256. 

W 

Wagram,  battle  of,  344. 
War  loan,  government,  403. 
Washington  Monument,  404. 
Waterloo,  battle  of,  371. 
William  the  Conqueror,  65. 
William  II.,  Emperor,  408,  416. 
World,  the  end  of,  54. 
World  War,  408-418. 
World's  Fair,  1889,  404. 


THE   END 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


A     000  047  380     1 


